


Guarded

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Addiction, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Army, First Love, First Time, Goodbyes, Heartbreak, Honesty, Lifeguard, M/M, Rehab, Reunion, Separation, Shy Sherlock, Summer Romance, Teenlock, War, alternative universe, collegelock, reunited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-08-11 06:24:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 70,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7879969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neither John nor Sherlock was expecting a romance during their summer at the seaside. No one expected how it would change their entire lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Lifeguard

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. We've got a back catalogue of 100 stories, so feel free to get lost within them. In 2016, we'll be slowing the pace a little, but we hope we've got enough to keep you entertained in between postings. **We hope you'll subscribe.**
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments. They mean a lot -- sometimes they inspire new ideas and works, sometimes they just make us feel all warm inside. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and liking and being a great community!

John's alarm sounded loudly beside him, and he shifted to turn it off, stretch and let himself yawn wide. He turned his head and looked out of the window. He had just about two weeks before he left for the army, and he was starting to tilt more toward nervous than excited. Taking off the summer and working like he used to had been a good choice; it'd kept him distracted and feeling normal. But despite knowing that going away was good in the long run, it was also quite frightening, but he tried not to dwell on his anxiety. He got out of bed and stretched again before getting dressed. He grabbed his phone, keys, and bag and left the little flat. He walked down to the beach and put his things on his chair.

He stretched again and then started his morning jog, raising the flags to signal it was safe to swim, and then jogged back to his chair again. This was his favourite time to be by the sea -- when the light was only just starting to show and there was no sound from tourists. He climbed up into his chair and sat back, looking out at the water and listening to the sound.

Sherlock tried to move quietly through the house, hoping no one else was awake. He grabbed his towel and tried to slide out the back door, only to find his mother sitting in the garden, having a cup of tea and reading the newspaper.

"Where are you off to?" she asked.

"Where do you think?" Sherlock said, motioning down at his swimming trunks and towel.

"Don't be sarcastic first thing in the morning, Sherlock," his mother said. "At least give me time to properly wake up before I have to deal with that."  
  
"Sorry," he said. He went over to the table and took a drink of her tea. "I want to go for a swim before there are too many people around," he explained.

"It'll be cold," she said, shooing him away from her drink. "Besides, you should meet people, make some friends. Maybe you'll meet a nice girl." She noticed him roll his eyes. "Or boy or whatever -- you should meet people is all I'm saying. Mycroft won't always be around for you, you know. He can't be your only friend."

"Mycroft is not my friend," Sherlock said abruptly.

She looked over at him. "Well ... fine then, give me the name of one of your friends," she said.

Sherlock stood silent for a moment and then left. He walked down to the beach. There was no one there except a lifeguard, so he dropped his towel and headed into the water. It was cold on his feet and when he dove in, the temperature stung the skin on his chest. He emerged, facing away from the land, gasping a little for breath, but enjoying the shock to his system.

John shifted in his seat to see better when he saw someone walking up. No one ever came out this early. John watched him only because there was nothing else to watch.

Sherlock lay on his back for a few moments, feeling the soft, slow rocking of the waves. He thought about what his mother had said. He didn't have friends, she was right, but he wasn't entirely sure he even wanted any. Watching the way students acted with each other at college hadn't made it look all that appealing. After a few moments, he dove under water again and swam a bit. His body got used to the temperature now, and it felt good to move around. When he stopped, he'd noticed he'd moved quite a ways done the beach. He swam back a little and then got tired, so he got out of the water to walk the rest of the way. Even though the sun was out, the morning wind felt very cold on his cold, wet skin. He noticed his towel had blown away from where he'd dropped it and was now nearer to where the lifeguard was sitting. He grabbed it and wrapped it around himself.

John leaned over a bit to keep watching the boy, even though he really had no reason to at this point. He wondered about him -- who he was and how long he would be here. Then he looked up at the sound of a car. People were starting to arrive.

Sherlock looked back when he saw the lifeguard look back. People were coming, and this was his cue to leave. He walked by the lifeguard's chair. "Have a good day," he said, though he had no idea why he had.

"See you," John said automatically. He looked back at the guy and wondered if he really would see him again. It wasn't long before there was a crowd. As the sun rose higher and higher, John had to focus more and more, but for the most part people were careful enough. He only had to yell at some kids throwing pebbles. He didn't trust them mucking about while he was on duty. He had enough to worry about keeping an eye out for real dangers. When John's shift ended, and he took his things back to his little flat. He took a quick shower and left to get something to eat.

Sherlock spent the rest of the afternoon in the back garden reading. In fact, he fell asleep for an hour, but by then the trees had covered him in shade. When he woke up, he was startled, forgetting where he was. He wiped his hand over his warm face and stood up, going inside for a drink.

His mother was standing at the counter looking at her laptop. "Have a good nap?" she asked, smiling at her son's sleepy face.

"I hadn't meant to, but I suppose I did," he said, sitting down at the counter. "What are you doing?"

"I'm trying to find a place for us to go get dinner," she said. "You know your brother and how fussy he is about eating..."

"I'm not really hungry," Sherlock said.

"I'm sure you're not," she said dismissively. "But you're still coming with us so please don't start complaining, all right? I've got enough on my hands with your brother and father. You know you're my favourite -- be my favourite tonight, okay?"

Sherlock wasn't so sure about this 'favourite' argument -- he had the feeling she used it on Mycroft as well. However, he couldn't be bothered arguing with her. A little while later, the whole family was walking down to the restaurant his mother had found. Mycroft harassed Sherlock the entire way.

"Hey John, save any one today?" Sarah smiled at him as she grabbed a menu and led him to his usual table.

"Everyday -- I'm a hero," he winked.

She rolled her eyes and set the menu down. "I doubt you need to look at it," she said. "But just in case."

John watched her go and flipped through the menu even though he knew he was going to get the burger and chips like he always did. He didn't eat much during the day to keep his training in check, but he always allowed himself to enjoy his food during one meal. Sarah took his order, and John took out a book to read while he waited.

When his family got inside the restaurant, Sherlock scanned the room. In the corner he saw someone sitting at a table who looked familiar, but it was hard to see his face because there was a book in front of it. His family sat down and from the different angle, Sherlock recognised the lifeguard. Mycroft began going on about not liking the food choices, and an idea popped into Sherlock's head. "Oh, I see a friend of mine," he said, as he stood up. "I think I'll go eat with him." He moved quickly away from the table, hearing his brother start to complaining but his mother shushing him.

Sherlock slid into the booth where the lifeguard was sitting, picking up the menu and holding it up to cover his own face. "Act like you know me," he said.

John didn't notice anything until someone was sliding into the booth across from him. He lowered his book but couldn't see his face. Then he looked around and noticed a family. They must belong to this boy because the mother was peering over curiously and the brother was scowling.

"I could pretend more easily if I knew your name at least," John said.

"It's me," Sherlock said, lowering the menu. "From this morning." He slipped his hand into his pocket and put his wallet on the table. "I have twenty quid in there I will gladly give you if you act normally and pleased to see me." He looked over and then back at the menu. "My name's Sherlock," he added.

John gazed at the face of the boy from this morning, astounded that he was actually here and they were talking. "Sherlock, hey," John said casually, leaning back comfortably in his seat. "How was your swim this morning?" He didn't look to see if Sherlock's family was still watching, but he was very curious about what the story was there.

"Good," Sherlock said a little abruptly. He set the menu down. "I don't plan on eating much so pick something for me that you'll like -- you can take it home with you." He pushed the menu towards John. "What's your name?"

"I've already ordered. Just ask for extra chips or something," he said. "I'm John." John glanced around again, and both the mother and brother were still watching them. He leaned on the table a bit to talk more quietly. "Um ... will they be watching the whole time?"

"Probably," Sherlock said. "They're tedious." When the server came over, Sherlock ordered some chips and a soda. He noticed the way she smiled at John. When she left, he asked, "Is that your girlfriend or something?"

"Sarah? No," John said. "Why do you say that?"

"She fancies you," Sherlock said. "It's obvious."

John looked over at Sarah who was now waiting on Sherlock's family. "We're just friends," he said, looking over at Sherlock again.

"Fine," Sherlock said. "So what's your story, John -- sorry, what did you say your last name was?"

"I didn't say," John said. "But it's Watson. And my story? I'm a med student, but right now I'm just a lifeguard for the summer."

"All right, Watson," Sherlock said. "And after the summer?"

"I'm going to the army," John said. Sarah brought his food and he hummed happily, pulling it closer and digging in.

"Oh, I don't think that's a very good idea," Sherlock said. He picked up a chip and studied it before putting it into his mouth.

John made a face and looked over at Sherlock. "Why not?" he asked.

"There are plenty of interesting things to do in this country," Sherlock said. "You needn't go elsewhere just to keep yourself busy. Besides, I'm sure they've got lifeguards in the Middle East."

John laughed, assuming Sherlock was joking. "I'm not going to be a lifeguard. I'm going to be a doctor. A trauma surgeon. The army provides good training."

"Odd," Sherlock said, picking up another chip.

John made another face. "Right, well, you're not going, so it doesn't matter," he said.

"I wasn't inviting myself," Sherlock said. "I just find it odd that you're so interested in trauma. What's that all about?"

"It's not the trauma. It's the excitement, the thrill of having to work quickly and efficiently to save someone's life. And the danger, I guess," John admitted.

Sherlock smiled. This guy was right -- working fast and efficiently was quite exciting. "Fair enough," he said. He glanced up at the server who was being scolded by Mycroft. "Not interested in a summer love, though? Why's that? You'd have to work quickly, but I imagine you'd find it quite exciting."

"You're quite determined on that subject. Are you interested?" John teased.

"In her?" Sherlock asked. "Not in the slightest."

"In me," John corrected.

"Possibly," Sherlock said, without looking up from his plate. He couldn't believe he'd actually said that.

John paused. "Really?"

Sherlock looked up. "Possibly."

John held his gaze, blinking at him. "Really."

"So ..." Sherlock said. "What do you make of that?"

John shrugged and smiled. "It's exciting," he said.

"Well, you'll need to work quickly and efficiently," Sherlock said. "And it could be dangerous." He smiled.

"Perfect," John smiled wider. "So ... let's have dinner."

"We are having dinner," Sherlock said.

"I mean tomorrow ... somewhere else ... without your family watching."

Sherlock glanced over at his family's table. "Sure, all right," he said, smiling. "When and where?"

"There's a little Italian place a few streets over. Do you know it?"

"I do," Sherlock said, wondering if he should be suspicious of John's choice. "I know the man who owns it."  
  
John raised his brows. "Really? How?" He wondered how often Sherlock's family came here. They didn't seem like tourists.

"Family friend," Sherlock said. He looked down at John's plate. "Did you enjoy your food?" he asked.

"Mmm, yeah, it's always good here. Do you like it?"

"Yes, well ... I'm just not much of an eater," Sherlock said. "But it was better sitting with you than with them." He felt his face warm a little. "I meant that as a compliment, but I'm not sure it came out that way."  
  
"I'll take it," John smiled, leaning back again. "Your brother looks like he's very constipated." He bit his lip and hoped Sherlock wouldn't get angry.

Sherlock laughed a little. "I'm sure he is," he said. "He's a bit obsessive about food but he's also horrible. My mum has to check menus before we go anywhere, but he always pouts anyway. It's embarrassing." He kind of enjoyed having someone take his side when it came to his brother. "What about you? You're clearly not an only child -- do you get on with your siblings?"

John shrugged. "It's hard to tell when you're not speaking," he said. "I've got a sister but we're not close. She went off with her girlfriend and hasn't come back."

"Hmmm," Sherlock said. "That doesn't sound good. I don't know why people get mixed up with that."  
  
"With what?"

Sherlock looked up. "What? Oh, girlfriends, I guess, I mean when they interfere with other things. I'm not interested in all that, I guess."

John smiled. "Well, you've just agreed to go on a date with me so I assume you're interested a little bit," he said.

"Not girls though ... just --" Sherlock said. "-- you, I guess." He took a sip of his drink. "I'm not sure why ... wait, I meant that as a compliment as well... I'm not very good at compliments, even when I mean them."

John smiled fondly. "Well, lucky me, then."

"Hmm ... I hope you still feel like that once you get to know me better," Sherlock said. "Did you grow up around here?"

John nodded. "We used to come just in the summers but after my dad died, my mum bought a house here and we've been here ever since."

Sherlock took another drink. "Sorry your dad died," he said awkwardly.

"Thank you," John said. "So, do you live around here?"

"Sometimes," Sherlock said. "We've got a place here and another in London." His face flushed again. "My family's wealthy obviously -- I hope that doesn't put you off me."  
  
John shook his head. "I don't know anyone who'd be put off by that," he said. "I don't care either way..."

"I just don't want you to think I'm ... like them, I guess," Sherlock said, nodding towards his family. "I'm not, I don't think."  
  
"Oh. Well, I don't know them, but you seem really nice and funny," John said. "You're also better looking," he winked.

Sherlock looked down at his drink. "Thanks," he said. "You are also very handsome." He smiled, proud of himself for finally getting a compliment right. He turned sharply when he felt a cold breeze brush his arm. His brother was standing at the table.

"Who is this?" Mycroft asked.

"My friend," Sherlock said, looking over at John apologetically.

"Mother wants to meet him," Mycroft said, now looking at John as well.

"Another time," Sherlock said. "Go away."

Mycroft moved back to their parents' table.

"Sorry," Sherlock said. "Try not to look over there -- if we pretend he doesn't exist, perhaps one day he won't anymore."

"You won't get in trouble, will you?"

"No," Sherlock said. "Just because they treat me like a child doesn't mean I am one." He glanced over his family and saw his mum smiling eagerly. "But I might have to go now, to avoid her coming over here and grilling you." He reached for his wallet. "Let me pay for your food."

"No, they don't charge me," John said quickly. "It's okay. Thanks though," he smiled.

"Perhaps I could buy your phone number off you?" Sherlock said. "Would five quid get me that?"

John pulled a napkin from the canister and looked around. "Do you have a pen?" he asked, not wanting to ask Sarah for hers. That might be awkward since he'd refused her in the past.

Sherlock pulled his phone from his pocket. "I'll just add it," he said. As John said it, he typed it in. Then he sent a text to give John his.

_This is from Sherlock. SH_

"Free of charge," John smiled as he saved Sherlock's number.

Sherlock smiled back. "I guess I should go," he said. "Seven o'clock work work for tomorrow?"

"Sure, I'll meet you there," John said. He watched Sherlock stand, smiling at him.

"Thanks for letting me sit with you, John Watson," Sherlock said. He walked by his family and mumbled, "I'm heading back." He walked out the restaurant. He took out his phone and looked at John's number and then he felt stupid for having done it. He slid the phone back into his pocket.

When he got back, he filled the kettle and turned in on. A few minutes later Mycroft came in and walked past him, mumbling, "You are an embarrassment." Sherlock poured three mugs of tea as his parents got home. He didn't like the wide smile on his mother's face.

"So ...?" she said, sitting down at the counter. His father took a mug and left the room.

"I forgot to mention him earlier," Sherlock said, handing her a mug. He took a sip from his mug and waited. He knew more questions were coming and figured he might as well get it over with.

"He's a friend?" she asked.

"I guess," Sherlock mumbled.

"More than a friend?"

"I don't know," he said. This was embarrassing. "We hardly know each other."

"But you want to know him more?" she asked.

"I guess," he said.

She looked over at him. "All right," she said softly. "I hope he realises you're worth knowing."  
  
Sherlock's face flushed. "Don't keep going on about it ... and don't talk to Mycroft," he said.

"Well, he's my son -- I do have to talk to him occasionally," she said. "But I know what you mean. Don't worry about him. Just enjoy your new friend."

He rolled his eyes but smiled a little.

When Sarah had her break, she slid into the booth across from John who was back to reading his book. "Who was that?" she asked.

"His name's Sherlock," he said. She kept staring at him. "I ... we have a date tomorrow."

"A date?"

John nodded.

"Hmm. Well ... his family was a bit off."

John nodded again, avoiding looking up at her. She got up and left to clean off the table where Sherlock's family was. John left a tip and waved as he left.

Sherlock spent the rest of the evening reading outside in the garden. It was all right being here really. If Mycroft weren't here, it'd be perfect really -- it was quieter than at college with fewer people to annoy him. He thought about the lifeguard and the fact that they had a date tomorrow. Suddenly he felt a bit sick to his stomach with nerves. Why had Sherlock gone to speak to him and why had he flirted with him and why had agreed to this date? He pulled out his phone and looked at John's number again. For some stupid reason it made him feel better. Maybe it would be okay. And if it something went horribly wrong -- if Sherlock embarrassed himself, like Mycroft already said he had -- at least this boy was going away and no one need ever mention it again.

But that's not what Sherlock wanted to happen.

When it was too dark to read, he went inside and got ready for bed. He climbed in and decided to read some more. But before he did he pulled out his phone.

_I apologise if this evening was too unusual. I would still like to have dinner with you. I just wanted to tell you that. Good night. SH_

John's head jerked up at the sound of his phone vibrating. He had fallen asleep at his desk looking over his papers for the army. He stretched and moved to his bed, opening the message.

_Don't worry. It was fun, and I was glad to help. I'm looking forward to seeing you again. -JW_


	2. The Date

In the morning, John grinned when he remembered the upcoming date, and his usual jog was easier than the day before. He felt lighter. However, by the time he climbed into his chair, his smile had faltered. He was thinking about the army. Soon he'd be leaving, and he'd be gone for a long time. He shouldn't have asked Sherlock out. He couldn't get attached right now.

When Sherlock woke up, he thought first about this evening. There was a moment's panic, yes, but he tried to remind himself that he sometimes struggled with new things, but that all new things didn't have to be bad. He looked over at his clock and realised he still had time to go for a private swim. Except, of course, now he knew it might not be so private since John might be there. Sherlock hoped he would be.

He got dressed and grabbed his towel, nodding hello to his mother in the garden as he headed out. He saw John as he approached. "Good morning," he said, loitering a bit before moving towards the sea.

"Hi," John smiled softly, watching Sherlock pass. He would have to talk to Sherlock when he came out of the water. If they'd enjoyed themselves, he'd feel bad leaving and both of them could end up hurt.

Sherlock swam for a bit, and he realised he was enjoying himself. He liked that he could get out of the water and go talk to John rather than rushing off before another human being got anywhere near him. After a while he did get out, wrapping his towel around him, and moving over to John's chair. "It's cold," he said. "But good. I like swimming in the morning."

"The morning is my favourite time to be out here," John agreed. He looked at the water, trying to gather his nerve.

"Are you sure you just don't like it because it's easier to work since there aren't many people here?" Sherlock said, smiling over. Out in the sun -- and with John wearing fewer clothes -- Sherlock could appreciate just how attractive he was.

John smiled. "You caught me," he said. He looked out at the water again and swallowed hard. "Um, I don't think I can go tonight."

Sherlock stood there for a moment. He hadn't thought John was going to say that. He wished he hadn't come out here this morning, and for a second, he thought about running straight home. But he didn't. "I don't believe you," he said instead. "I think you can. If you mean you don't want to, you should say that instead.

John flushed lightly. "But that's not true. What I said is true," he said. "I can't."

"John Watson, here's something to know about me -- I am good at knowing when people are lying. There's nothing physically stopping you from going to dinner with me tonight. It's not an issue of can't. It might be an issue of won't or don't want to, but it's not can't." He wrapped his towel around him more tightly and started to put on his shoes. "You should be honest," he said under his breath.

John looked down at his feet, rubbing then together. "I'm leaving in two weeks, for a long time. I can't --" He paused and glanced at Sherlock. "I don't want to get attached -- it's too much of a risk of getting hurt."

Sherlock thought about that for a moment. "I see," Sherlock said. He turned and added, "Except I don't. I don't see at all actually. You don't want to risk hurt? You're going into the army where you could in fact get hurt, which you know, but are choosing anyway. There must be something there worth that risk." He paused for a moment, remembering what his mum had said last night. "I'm worth that risk -- I understand if you don't know it yet -- but I am worth it."

John looked up. He studied Sherlock's face and then found his gaze, holding it steadily. He took a deep breath as he got his thoughts together. Physical things healed more easily, but he didn't say that. "Okay. I'm sorry. We should go," he said, a bit embarrassed.

"Good," Sherlock said. "I'll see you at at seven. You have my number if you change your mind, but I hope you don't." He winked and headed back home.

John turned to watch him leave, biting his lip. Okay. He could keep it casual. It was just a date. Nothing too serious. He watched the people starting to arrive, trying to focus on that instead.

When Sherlock got back, he rinsed off and then took a cup of tea to the back garden. His mum came out and sat by him.

"What?" he asked.

"What do you mean, what? I'm just sitting here with my son," she said. She was smiling. She looked around the garden and then said, "Did you go see your new friend this morning?"

"Yes," he said quietly.

"And will you be seeing him later ... perhaps this evening?" she asked, trying but failing to sound as it were just a casual question.

"Yes," he said.

"For dinner? For a date?"

"Yes, all right? For a dinner date -- at the place down the road at seven. Any other details you need?"

"No," she said, still smiling.

"But don't tell anyone, all right?"

"Your secret's safe with me," she said. She squeezed his arm and got up and left him to read.

When the new lifeguard came on shift, John hurried back home to get ready. He took a shower, scrubbing the salt from his hair. Then he took too long picking out an outfit. He fussed his hair a bit before heading out, checking his phone the whole way.

Sherlock's mum came up around six thirty, peeking into his room. "Handsome," she said. "Do you want a ride?"

"No thanks," he said. "I'll walk." He looked over at her. "Do I look all right? I don't know what I'm supposed to look like."

"You look very all right," she said. "Have fun."

He headed out and made his way to the restaurant. He saw John waiting at the door. He smiled. "I'm glad you came," he said, opening the door for him.

John smiled and walked in, raising his hand in a wave before sitting near the window. "How was your day?"

"Productive, I guess," Sherlock said. "I mostly read. Did you save anyone?"

"Will you be impressed if I said the only thing I saved was a dolphin-shaped float a kid lost in the waves?"

"I'm afraid not," Sherlock said, smiling.

The owner came over to the table with two menus and a candle. He gave Sherlock a pleased look. "Do you want anything to drink while you're deciding?" he asked.

"Do you want some wine?" John asked Sherlock.

"That sounds good," he said. He turned and said, "We trust your choice." The man walked off and Sherlock looked at John. "Have you been here before? I'm sure everything is good."

"I have a few times," John nodded. "I love the lasagna."

"You're handsome," Sherlock said and then blushed. "I just mean ... well, you are, but I'm sure the lasagna's good." He picked up the menu to cover his face a bit.

John smiled, his own cheeks warm. "You're handsome as well," he said. He reached out and touched Sherlock's hand, so he'd lower the menu a bit. He smiled wider.

Sherlock turned his hand to touch John's. The owner came over, poured their wine and took their order. Sherlock took a sip and said, "Tell me something about yourself. Tell me what you would do if you had twenty four hours and five hundred pounds at your disposal."  
  
"Hmm. I would travel. As many different places as I could afford in twenty four hours. What about you?"

"I would buy an expensive microscope and lock myself in room with a kettle," Sherlock said. "But I'd answer the phone if you wanted to call and tell me about your trip."  
  
"So does the tea appear magically because you didn't buy any of that," John smiled.

"I bought five hundred quids' worth the last time I played this game," Sherlock said. He took a piece of bread and tore it into small bites, popping one into his mouth.

"Oh! So you are prepared. That's good," John smiled. He reached out for one of the pieces of bread, touching Sherlock's hand in the process as he stole it and grinned.

Sherlock laughed a little. "I'm always prepared, John Watson," he said. "That's one thing you can count on. Now you do a question -- something that will help you get to know me."

"Hmm ... if you could have dinner with anyone alive or dead, who would you pick?"

"At the moment, obviously, you," Sherlock said. "But I know what you mean." He thought for a moment. "I suppose D.B. Cooper -- he was a man who hijacked a plane and disappeared. He's a good mystery, I guess, so I could find out how he did it."

John grinned. "Hmm. You're really interesting."

"I am, aren't I?" Sherlock said, grinning back. "I told you."  
  
The man came over with the food. Sherlock took a few bites of his. "Like it?" he asked John.

"I've had it before," John reminded him. He smiled. "I do like it. And what I was saying before ... it was because of me, not you."

"What you were saying when?" Sherlock asked. "Oh, you mean this morning? Well ... I don't know what to say ... I don't want you to get hurt by me. I'll try not to be horrible." He knew that John had seen his family and he hoped John wasn't actually worried that he was as bad as his brother.

"Not by you, exactly. Just ... I don't know. Let's talk about something nicer," John said. "Are you in school or anything?"

Sherlock nodded. "I'll be starting a chemistry course in the autumn. I'm not sure how I feel about it. Not the work, I mean, that's won't be a problem. It's just ... being cooped up with people and all that business. I'm not really into that part of it all -- obviously, I mean, I still go on family holidays and all. I don't know anyone else who does that." He fiddled with his food. He didn't know why he found himself pointing out his flaws -- John would surely discover them soon enough.

"It's nice," John smiled. "Chemistry was my worst subject," he admitted.

Sherlock made a face. "I can't tell if you're being patronising or not," he said and took a sip of wine. "What was your best subject?"

"Biology," John laughed.

"I see," Sherlock said. "Perhaps that means we'll make a good partnership."

"I'm sure there are other reasons as well," he smiled.

"Like what?" Sherlock said, smiling back. "Tell me if you think you're so clever. What's brought us together? Pure chance or something else?"

"Are you being patronising now?" John asked, picking at his food.

"No," Sherlock said. "But it's something I'm curious about. I believe there's a reason. I just don't know it yet."

"Well, I'm not exactly sure what it is. Or rather how to explain it. English wasn't my best subject either," John smiled.

"So I shouldn't be expecting any love poems from you at any point?" Sherlock asked. He wondered if the wine was going to his head a bit.

John laughed. "Only if you want to be driven away."

"Your threatening to cancel our date didn't drive me away," Sherlock said. "If that didn't, I don't know what would." He smiled over at John.

"Not even if I said you're handsome and clever and nice, your smile is as bright as ... as an orange slice?" John grinned, his cheeks burning.

"Wow," Sherlock laughed. "I may need to reconsider my position."

John laughed and shook his head, embarrassed. "Don't! I won't try again."

"You can try again," Sherlock said. "Trust me -- nothing's going to make me sorry that I met you." He made a little cough, realising that the comment was sweeter than anything he'd said in his entire life. He decided he might as well continue the trend, so he reached across and grabbed John's hand. "I really like you," he added.

John blinked and looked down at their hands. Sherlock had lovely hands. "Do you play an instrument?" he asked softly. He knew he should have said it back, but the voice from this morning tugged at him.

"Violin," Sherlock said. "Go ahead and mock me if you want -- everyone else does." He pulled his hand back and picked up his fork.

John flushed lightly when Sherlock pulled his hand back. "I'm not going to mock you," he said. He leaned back and picked at his food. He took a breath, opened his mouth, closed it, and finally just said it. "I like you, too."

"Good," Sherlock said. "I mean, I'm glad. So what do you do around here when you're not working?"

John shrugged. "I work out, I read, I hang out with friends ... it just depends."

Sherlock glanced up quickly. "Do you have a lot of friends around here?" he asked.

"Yeah, I suppose. You met Sarah already. I hang out with the lifeguards sometimes -- I've known them a long time."

"Right ..." Sherlock mumbled. "I don't know what else to say about that ... I don't have many friends."

"Well, you don't come here for very long so that makes sense," John said.

"No," Sherlock said, glancing up. "I mean, I don't have many friends at all. Anywhere. I'm not very…sociable, maybe even a little anti-social, I guess you could say."

"Oh. Well, they don't know what they're missing," John said, unsure how to respond to that.

Sherlock pulled a skeptical face. "Well, it's fine with me if you're the only one who's interested," he said. "Are your friends going into the army as well?"

John shook his head. "No. Just me."

"And how do you feel about that -- I mean, are you looking forward to it?" Sherlock said.

John nodded. "The truth is, well, I want something exciting. Thrilling. The army will teach me skills and train me in a way no other place can. My mum isn't happy, but I want to do it."

"Is she worried you're going to die?"

John nodded again. "Yeah. I know that's a possibility but the first part will just be training and they don't put medics on the front lines, you know? I'll be fine."

"Right," Sherlock said. "You seem level-headed. You'll be fine." He thought about John's decision: it was big. He wondered if he'd be able to make a decision like that and was glad he'd never had to yet.

John smiled. "Thanks for saying so," he said. "Where will you go to uni?"

"Cambridge," Sherlock said. "I think I'll like being away from my family, but ..." He looked over at John. "Do you like living on your own?"

"I suppose. It's hard to say. I miss the company sometimes, and the little things my mum would do but then I don't miss her prying and asking too many questions." John shrugged. “Uni is really laid back. I mean, you have to try to do well but I think you’ll like it. They encourage experimenting and stuff.”

"I hate the prying and I can't wait to get away from my brother," Sherlock said. "But I'm not great at things like eating and that kind of business and my mum helps ... I'm sure I'll be able to handle it, it'll just take a while to get used to."

"Set little alarms for yourself," John smiled.

"I'll figure something out -- it's hardly anything compared to the things you'll be dealing with," Sherlock said. "Perhaps some of your sensible behaviour will rub off on me this summer."

John smiled. "Maybe," he said, wondering if he should remind Sherlock that they wouldn't have long together.

Sherlock moved his plate a little to the side. "Do you want some dessert?" he asked. "Do you have to go right away?"

"No to both of those," John smiled. "We can go for a walk if you like."

"I would like that," Sherlock said. He waved for the owner who came over to the table but wouldn't accept any payment. He gave Sherlock a wink.

John thanked him and followed Sherlock outside. "Want to walk by the water?"

"All right," Sherlock said. "But if we see someone drowning, don't run off and leave me." He stood up and they headed out.

John laughed. "I would be obligated," he said. "But I'm sure seeing me play the hero will sweep you off your feet."

"I am not easily swayed," Sherlock said. When they got closer to the beach where there were fewer people around, he reached out to try to hold John's hand.

John tensed but opened his hand to take Sherlock's. He swallowed hard. This was okay. It was fine. He glanced at Sherlock and smiled.

"We don't have to," Sherlock said, but he didn't let go of John's hand. They walked along a bit more. "There's a bench over there," he said. "Want to sit down?"

"It's okay," John said, squeezing his hand lightly. "Yeah, let's sit."

Sherlock sat down and looked out at the sea. "I quite like being here, really, I mean, away from college and home and all," he said. "I like having fewer people around, I guess."

John nodded. "I like it here, too. It's easy to think and clear your head, you know?"

"There's nothing I hate more than when there's too much in my head," Sherlock said.

John nodded. "I know. Does that happen to you a lot?"

Sherlock glanced over. "I guess it does, yeah," he admitted. "It's like I want to understand everything, but it doesn't work when it's all at once."

John nodded. "You seem like you'd have a lot stored in there. Not that you have a big head! I just mean, you seem smart."

"I am smart," Sherlock said quickly and then wished he hadn't. "It's just ... it's a skill to know what to 'store' and what not to. I feel like I'm still trying to get the balance right."

"Mine doesn't store anything," John teased.

"Don't do yourself down," Sherlock said. "I want you to be honest, and it's clear you're a clever person. You must know that." His face softened a little. "I like that you're clever," he added.

John smiled softly. "Thanks," he murmured, squeezing Sherlock's hand lightly.

They sat and watched the sea for a little while. Sherlock felt quite comfortable with John, which was unusual. He felt like he was just living his life -- not the life of his parents' son or Mycroft's brother -- but just his, Sherlock's. He kept hold of John's hand.

John was looking at the water, but his focus was on Sherlock. On their hands. He was comfortable and happy even though his mind was still trying to fight it, still reminding him about what would happen soon when he left.

"John," Sherlock said softly. He wished they could stay forever there, in a place where it was quiet except for the sound of the waves and where it was only the two of them, but that seemed a bit silly and overly romantic. "Should we head back?" he asked.

John nodded. "I can walk you home," he offered. He didn't want to part just yet.

Sherlock stood up. He thought about leaning over and kissing John, but he wasn't sure if he was reading things right. He was very good at telling when people were lying, but he wasn't as confident about his abilities with things like this. He grabbed John's hand again, and they started to walk.

John let Sherlock lead, wondering where his family lived and if he was going to see any of them.

When they got close, Sherlock said, "Look .. .I know you're a bit older than me and you've got your own life and all, but I want you to know, I'm not like my family..." His voice trailed off a bit. "I just mean, the house where we're staying, it's my grandparents' and it's nice and all, but I don't want you to think I'm a snob or anything."

"I don't," John said. "And I wouldn't, even if you took me home on a private plane," he smiled.

"Well, they're not that wealthy," Sherlock said. They walked a little more. "I'd like to invite you in," he said. "But perhaps not tonight ... I don't know who will be there and I don't want them to ... ruin this."

John nodded. "It's okay," he said. "Maybe next time," he offered.

Sherlock stopped just a bit before the house. He turned and looked at John. "Maybe we should say good night here," he said. "I hope we can see each other again," he added.

"You know where to find me," John smiled softly. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"I'd like that," Sherlock said. He lifted his hands to hold John's forearms and leaned in to kiss him goodnight.

John turned his head, closing his eyes as Sherlock's lips brushed his cheek. He swallowed hard. "I ... I'll see you tomorrow," he said. He glanced at Sherlock whose face looked ... John's heart hurt a bit thinking he'd caused that look. "Sorry," he mumbled, turning to go.

Sherlock's face burned. He didn't even say a word, but just turned and walked towards the house. Before he let himself in, he took a deep breath, opened the door and headed straight to his room.

John was hitting his forehead the whole way to his flat. What a stupid thing to do. He should have left early. He shouldn't have let Sherlock hold him like that, so close. Any other time he would have kissed Sherlock, would have invited him over to his empty flat. But it was too risky so close to the army. He walked in and went straight to bed. He couldn't fall asleep for a long time, replaying it wavering between planning apologies and figuring out a way to avoid Sherlock for the next two weeks.

Sherlock didn't even turn on the light in his room. He stripped off his clothes and climbed into bed. He didn't want to think about what had happened and what hadn't happen.

He heard a tap on his door, but he didn't make a sound. The door opened and his mum peeped in. "Did you have a good time?" she asked softly.

"I'm trying to go to sleep," he said flatly.

She looked in a few more minutes and then closed the door. Sherlock rolled over to face the wall.


	3. They Try Again

When John finally did sleep, he tossed and turned all night. He was already awake when the alarm went off in the morning. His jog was hard. He moved heavy, pounded the ground, whipped the flags into place. He had messed up. Sherlock had been right. What did it matter if it was short lived? Shouldn't they be enjoying it? He had to make it right. If Sherlock would even let him.

Sherlock opened his eyes. It was morning, but he didn't want to get up. He didn't want to do anything. He cursed himself for doing something new -- he hadn't used his head and should have known things would go so wrong. He tried closing his eyes again, hoping to go back to sleep, but instead there was another tap on the door. "Can I come in?" his mum asked.

"I guess," he said, sitting himself up.

His mother came through with a cup of tea, which she placed on the bedside table. She sat down on the bed. "So ..." she said softly. "Last night ... did something upset you?"

Sherlock reached for the mug, which he held up to his face instead of answering.  
  
"Wasn't he nice?"

Sherlock took a sip. "I don't know," he mumbled.

She looked over him and wished she could help. She tapped his legs and said, "Come on and get up or you'll have to swim with people around and no one wants that." She smiled.

"I don't think I'll go today," he said.

"Stop it," she said. "I won't hassle you, Sherlock, but you know better than that. Get up and go -- don't change yourself for someone else." She stood up. "Get up, son." She left him on his own.

He finished his tea. She was right. He got up and got dressed and headed out for his swim. He liked swimming in the morning, and he wasn't going to change that for someone else. But he didn't want to see John. He walked further down the road, before heading to the beach.

John was scanning the area, waiting for Sherlock. The sun crept up slowly. There was no one coming yet. Maybe John could go to Sherlock's house after work. Had he told his parents? His mean brother? Maybe he would text first. Then he saw someone. They were far down. John lifted the binoculars and focused to see better. It was Sherlock.

John jumped down from the seat and jogged down, slowing when he got to Sherlock's things. Sherlock was far in, diving and swimming. John didn't know if he'd been seen but he waded in, diving in and swimming close.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock turned and looked towards the shore. He saw John. "I'm not drowning," he said. "I'm fine." He dove under and pushed through the water away from John.

John swam after him. "Sherlock, I'm sorry. Please," he said. "I messed up." He kept talking and hoped Sherlock could hear. "You were right. It is worth it. You are worth it."

Sherlock couldn't quite hear what John was saying. He stopped and looked towards him. "What did you say?" he asked.

"You're worth it," John said. "I'm sorry."

Sherlock moved closer to John. "I'm sorry if I was a bad date," he said. "I told you I don't really know how to act. I just ... enjoyed being with you."

John reached out quickly, then slowed and hesitated. When Sherlock didn't move away, John touched his arms the way Sherlock held him last night. "You were an incredible date," he said. "I just ... I was nervous about the stuff I said in the morning but I'm not now. I enjoyed last night. I need to just ... enjoy it and not worry so much," he said.

"I just ... like you," Sherlock said.

"I like you, too," John said. He lifted a hand to Sherlock's jaw before leaning in to kiss him properly.

Sherlock moved closer, wrapping his arms around John and pulling him tight. He kissed him back. John opened his mouth to deepen the kiss.

Sherlock pulled his head back a bit, still keeping his arms around John. "Aren't you supposed to be working?" he asked.

"I'm giving you mouth to mouth," John said. He smiled stupidly.

"When are you done working?" Sherlock asked. "Could we do something together?"

"My shift ends at three," John said.

"Can we see each other?" Sherlock asked.

"Sorry, yes. Of course," John said quickly. "I could meet you wherever you want."

"I don't want you to get sacked," Sherlock said, smiling. "Even though I could swim out even further and you could spend all day saving me."

John grinned. "Do you want to come sit with me?"

"For a few moments," Sherlock said. "I'm not good out in the sun too long." He turned quickly and dove into the water to swim back to John's chair. John swam over as well, walking out with Sherlock and climbing into his chair. He moved over so Sherlock could sit as well.

Sherlock sat down. "I hope you're not expecting me to save anyone," he said. He looked out at the water. "When do people start arriving?"

"Usually when the sun is properly up. Active old people come first because they are up too early and want to avoid the sun, like you. Then families with big umbrellas to tire out the kids, and then lazy old people who slept all day and come out when the sun is going down."

"Don't be cruel to old people," Sherlock said. "One day you'll be one." He pushed John's arm a little.

"I am not cruel! That is an observed fact," John smiled.

"Are you cruel to anyone?" Sherlock asked.

"I try not to be," he said. He looked over at Sherlock and bit his lip. Was he referencing last night? "I try not to be," he said again.

"Good," Sherlock said. "I don't think cruelty would suit you very well." He smiled.

John smiled and reached out to hold Sherlock's hand. "What do you want to do later?"

"We could go out to this place I know --- maybe we could take some food out there instead of going to another restaurant?" Sherlock suggested.

"Okay," John agreed. "Where is it? Like, on the beach somewhere?"

"Not really -- you'll see," Sherlock said. He wiped his brow. "I might have to go now. I'm very unpleasant when I got overheated." He pulled a funny face.

John chuckled. "Okay. Text me where to meet you, okay?"

"All right," Sherlock said, standing up. "When would you like to meet up?"

"Like I said, I'm off at three," John smiled.

"Then let's say four o'clock, so you can go home and get changed or whatever," Sherlock said. He took a few steps away and then stopped. "Um ... if you change your mind, let me know okay?"

"I won't," John promised. "I'll see you later."

"Good," Sherlock said. "I'll text you later. Don't let anyone drown," he added as he headed off.

John smiled and waved as Sherlock left. He looked out at the swimmers, grinning happily.

Sherlock walked back to the house. His mother was in the kitchen. She motioned for him to sit and brought him a cup of tea. "Did you swim?" she asked.

Sherlock nodded as he took a sip.

"You'll need some breakfast," she said. She made him some toast and then sat down with him. "Do you want to tell me about last night?"

He shook his head and took a bite of tea.

"Very talkative this morning, I see," she said. "Well, I think perhaps we should have a little talk nonetheless." She fiddled with her own cup of tea. "It's probably your father who should be talking to you, but you know how he is. I guess we thought you boys wouldn't need it but your brother ... anyway, do you know what I want to talk to you about?"

Sherlock looked over at her. She looked worried, but he really didn't understand what she was going on about. "No idea," he mumbled.

She sighed a little. "I don't want one bad experience to put your off," she said. "Maybe you just didn't choose right."

He thought for a moment. He still didn't know what she meant, so instead he just said, "Okay."

"Don't just say okay," she said. "What went wrong?"

He put his mug down. "Mum," he said. "I've literally got no idea what you're talking about."

"Your date -- what went wrong? Please don't let one bad date keep you from trying it again," she said. "Your father and I -- we're happy. You could be happy too."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "It wasn't a bad date," he said. "It was fine. Everything's fine."

"But you --"

"There was just a little confusion, but it's fine," he said. "We're going to do something this afternoon."

"Well, that's good," she said, taking a bite of his toast. "That's good. I was just worried."

"You don't have to worry about me -- I'm not a child," he said, taking his toast back from her. "Are we done talking now?"

"Well, no," she said. "Now we need to talk about something else."

"We've done a lot of talking already," he said lightly. "I'm pretty busy, you know." He looked over at her and gave her a little smile.

"It's sex, Sherlock," she said.

"Oh my God, Mum, no," he said. "Please don't do this ... "

"Well, you need to know," she said. "I don't know what you know but you need to know. There are issues and you have to protect yourself."  
  
Sherlock put his hands over his ears. "Please don't say any of those words anymore."

"Sherlock, stop acting like a child," she said and pulled on his hands. "Do you have any condoms?"

Sherlock didn't say anything.  
  
"That'd better be a yes, but if it's a no, you should get some," she said.

"Are we done?"

"I'm afraid not, son," she said. "Fine, you know how to protect yourself against diseases. And how about from ... heartbreak?"  
  
"What?" he said, afraid to look over at her for some reason.

She stood up and moved over to the sink. "I know I'm not the ideal person to talk to, but ... I don't want you to feel sad."

He thought for a moment. About last night and what he'd felt when John pulled away. "And what should I do ... to avoid that?"  
  
She turned around but didn't look directly at him. She knew he didn't like being looked at when he felt uncomfortable. She was like that as well, he probably got that from her. "Well, there's no guarantee, of course, but mainly be honest. You have to talk ... I know that's not your favourite thing to do but you'll have to."  
  
"All right," he said. "I'll keep that in mind." He picked up the crust of his toast and then put it back down. "Are we done talking now?" he asked.

She glanced up at him. "Yeah, we're done," she said and smiled. "But you can always come talk to me if you want to."

"Thanks," he said and he realised he actually meant it. He got up and took his plate and mug to the sink.

"So where are you going this afternoon?" she asked, her voice lightening a little.

"I think we're going to get some food and maybe take it somewhere," he said, washing up as she dried.

"Like a picnic?" she said, slapping his arm with the tea towel. "Was that your idea? That's quite sweet."

"Not a picnic," he said. "Just taking food somewhere to eat."

"To that place you go?" she asked.

"Possibly," he said. He took the tea towel and dried his hands.

"Well, take some condoms with you," she laughed.

He covered his ears again as he walked out of the room.

John didn't do much of anything during his shift again. The waters were pretty calm so people weren't having a rough time. That, of course, was a good thing, but it was also a boring thing. He left his mind wander. He had another date with Sherlock. He could hardly believe it after he had been so stupid last night. The kiss had been so good. Maybe because he had been building it up all night as he worked out his apology. Maybe it was because his mind was building up this relationship into something more than it was. He was the one that wanted to keep it casual, and yet he kept thinking about this like it was some film an old girlfriend might make him watch about summer love. He shook his head and sighed loudly. He didn't want to stop, but he needed to slow down. He would scare Sherlock off thinking like that.

When his shift was over the new lifeguard came on and Sarah was there as well. "Hi. I brought your usual, thought we could hang out since I'm off."

John rubbed his neck awkwardly. "I can't," he said.

"Why not? Another date?" She asked, he brows raised. "I thought you didn't want to get into anything because you're leaving."

"I don't. I mean ... he knows about that. Knows it's just casual."

"I knew that, too," she grumbled, picking at the bag in her hands. "So what? You just like boys now?"

"Not only boys, but I like him," John said. "You're my friend, Sarah. I'm sorry I don't feel the same way."

She stared at the bag for a moment longer before looking up at him. "Whatever. Have fun on your date, I guess."

"We can hang out some other time," John said. She was already walking off, and she only raised her hand without turning around or saying anything else. He walked back to his place feeling a bit down about hurting her, but it was hard to keep feeling that way when he focused instead on going to meet Sherlock. He threw the bag of food in the fridge, took a quick shower, and got dressed.

_Where am I meeting you? -JW_

Sherlock had rested for a bit and then got some things together for the date. When he heard his phone vibrate, he felt a burst of excitement. _  
_

_Can I come to yours to pick you up? SH_

_Okay.-JW_

He sent the address through with a link to a map.

_I'll be there in ten minutes. SH_

He grabbed his bag and headed out.

"Have fun and be careful," his mother said as he passed through the kitchen. He just rolled his eyes. He made his way over to John's, trying not to rush because he didn't want to get all sweaty. He was a little nervous, but didn't want to focus on that. He arrived and knocked on John's door.

John opened the door and smiled. "Hi. You look nice."

"Hello, thanks, you look nice as well," Sherlock said. "Sunny. I mean, you got some sun." He looked in a little. "Am I coming in or are we going now?"

"Oh! You can come in," John said, moving to the side.

Sherlock stepped in and had a look around. "I like your place," he said. He wasn't sure what to do and suddenly felt quite overwhelmed by the feeling that he was stupid and immature compared to John.

"It's okay," John shrugged. "I'd give you a tour, but it's really just the bathroom and my room."

"Where do you sleep?" Sherlock asked. "Can I see it?"

John nodded. "Sure, it's this way," he said. He opened the door but stood in the frame so when Sherlock leaned in they'd be pressed close.

"I have condoms," Sherlock said awkwardly, feeling his face heat up.

John flushed. "I, uh, for right now?" he asked, glancing at Sherlock and rubbing his neck awkwardly.

"No --" Sherlock said. "I just mean I have some. Sorry." He stepped back a bit.

"Um, okay. I ... that's good. I do too," he added, motioning to the bedside table.

"Sorry again, I don't know why I said that," Sherlock said. "Should we get going?"

"Yeah, let's go," John said. He smiled and led the way out again. "So that was my place."

"It's good," Sherlock said. "I hope when I get my own place, it's like that."

"Well, none of the stuff is mine really," John smiled. "But if you get a place, I'll help you decorate."

"You won't be here though," Sherlock said. "But let's not think about that ..." He regretted bringing that up. "I'd like to take you to this place that I like to go to."

"Okay," John smiled. "Is it a secret?"

"In a way," Sherlock said. "I mean, I've never been there with anyone else, but it's not illegal for us to be there or anything." He grabbed John's arm and pulled him down a path heading away from the road.

"I trust you. What did you bring for food?"

"I made some sandwiches," Sherlock said. "Just cheese because I didn't know what else to make. I didn't know how long the date is supposed to last -- we can get more food later is you want."

"I'm sure that'll be fine," John smiled.

"Here," Sherlock said. "Come through here." He led them off the path, and they crawled over some large rocks. "Down here," Sherlock motioned. There was a little clearing inside a circle of trees. He turned and looked at John. "What do you think?"

John grinned. "I love this," he said. "It's romantic," he teased

"Is that okay?" Sherlock asked. "I guess I kind of wanted it to be." He pulled a blanket out of his bag and spread it out on the ground.

John leaned in and kissed Sherlock when he stood straight. "It's perfect."

"I like kissing you," Sherlock said. He sat down on the ground and pulled the sandwiches out of the bag.

John sat down beside him. "I like it, too."

"I haven't done a lot of kissing," Sherlock said. "I hope I'm okay at it."

"I think you're great," John smiled. "I'd be happy for you to show me again."

Sherlock leaned over and kissed John again, lifting his hand to hold his arm. John hummed softly, holding Sherlock's hand as they kissed. Sherlock parted his lips and let his tongue slip in to find John's, leaning in even closer. John opened his mouth for Sherlock, returning the intensity as he slid his hand into his hair. Sherlock pushed him down flat on the ground, learning over him. He lifted his head and looked down at John. "Is this okay?" he asked.

John nodded. "You brought condoms after all," he teased, leaning up to kiss him.

Sherlock sat up. "What? Now? I don't --"

"No, Sherlock," John said softly as he pushed himself up. "I was just teasing." he reached out and touched his arm. "I like kissing you and maybe ... we could do more at some point."

Sherlock liked the sound of that, even though it made him a little nervous. "Okay," he said, not sure what else to say. He decided to change the subject. "Do you want a sandwich?"

John grinned. "All right," he nodded.

Sherlock tossed him a sandwich. "I've mainly been thinking about you for the entire day," he said. "Is that all right?"

John chuckled. "Yeah, of course. I've been thinking about you, too."

"But I mean ... pretty much all the time," Sherlock said smiling.

"I know what you mean," John smiled.

"This has never really happened to me before -- well, if I'm honest, it's definitely never happened to me before," Sherlock said. "Should we be worried or is it okay?" His mother had been right: talking about things like this was not Sherlock's favourite thing to do. Partly because he didn't have the words, and partly because he lacked all confidence in his ability to even understand feelings and therefore talking about them revealed that. However, he trusted his mother and she'd said to talk. And Sherlock was surprised to find that talking to John, even about his ignorance, seemed okay actually.

"Worried about what?" John asked as he ate. "What exactly has never happened before?"

"I just mean that I like you so much and we don't even know each other that well, but I feel like I want to be around you all the time and I normally don't even like people," Sherlock said. "It's just ... surprising."

John nodded. "I'll admit I've never felt like this either. I mean, I have been with ... before but this has happened pretty quickly. I'm trying not to stress about it, because I like you."

"All right," Sherlock said. "I'll trust you." Which was true, he would try to trust John. He hoped he wouldn't regret it. He took a small bite of the sandwich and made a face. "The food's not very good, I'm afraid."

"It's okay," John smiled. "I mean it tastes okay -- not that it's just okay and not good. It is good."

Sherlock laughed. "Hmm…you don't have to flatter me," he said. "I already admitted I'm not that good with normal stuff like food and cleaning. I know my weaknesses. We can get some proper food later if you like" He glanced over at John. "Maybe we could go back to your place and order something."

John looked over at him and nodded. "Yeah, we should. We can watch a film or something on the computer."

"Whatever you want to do," Sherlock said. He looked around at the trees. "Maybe in your bedroom?"

John flushed lightly, his stomach doing a little flip. "Yeah," he said. "We could do that."

Sherlock took a sip of tea. Then he lay back on the blanket and looked up at the sky. "I like being here because it's like there's nothing else in the world here except me ... and you now," he said.

John shifted a little closer in the guise of shifting to lie down as well. "It's a nice spot. As much as I love the beach it's hard to feel peaceful like this there, when the people start arriving," he said.

"I sometimes wish I never had to be around other people," Sherlock admitted quietly. "Except now I know you and I wish it was always just me and you, I guess."

John reached out and held Sherlock's hand. "That's really sweet," he murmured.

Sherlock thought about those words. They'd never been used to describe him before and now two people had said them about him. He squeezed John's hand.

John squeezed back and rubbed his thumb over the back of Sherlock's hand. "Thank you for bringing me here."

Sherlock turned his head and looked at John. "You're welcome," he said. "Thanks for liking me."

John smiled. "That's easy."

"I hope it always is," Sherlock said.

John smiled and kissed the back of his hand, looking up again.

They lay together for a while, talking. Sherlock told John about his life at college, and John talked about his own experiences. Sherlock wondered how his life would have been different if they'd met earlier. John found it easy to talk to Sherlock, telling him about his sister and that trouble, about school and playing sports, about everything. After a while Sherlock realised he was now lying on his side, facing John. He leaned over and kissed him again. It felt so nice and comfortable which was so unusual. But he tried hard not to overthink. He just wanted to let himself enjoy it as much as possible. John kissed back softly, bringing his free hand up to Sherlock's cheek.

"I really like this," Sherlock mumbled between kisses. "I really like how you make me feel..."

John kissed him a bit harder, humming his agreement. "You make me feel really good too," he murmured.

Sherlock looked closely at John's face. "Maybe we should go," he said. "Should we go back to yours?"

"Yeah, let's go," John nodded.

Sherlock gathered up his things and shoved them into his bag. As they walked, he thought about the fact that he had a strong desire to have sex with John Watson. He'd never been all that interested in sex -- he'd had a few experiences with boys at his boarding school, but none of it had made much of an impression. It'd been something to try so he tried it. But now the feeling was quite strong and even the desire felt good. Sherlock let John unlock the door. He felt eager as he watched John, noticing everything about the way he looked and realising how much he liked it all.


	4. Back At John's House

John unlocked the door and let Sherlock in. He took a deep breath. "Should I pretend we're still going to watch a movie?" he asked as he closed the door. 

"What do you mean?" Sherlock asked and then he realised exactly what he meant. "I've never done it ... I've done some but ... I want to. If you want to," he confessed.

"We can just go slow ... do whatever you're comfortable with. Whatever you want," John said, putting down his keys and moving closer to Sherlock. 

"I want to do it all," Sherlock said. "Because of you and how you make me feel."

John leaned up and kissed him, holding the back of his head close. Sherlock made a soft moan of approval and kissed him back. He let his hands move to John's hips and gripped them tightly.

John moved towards his bedroom, not breaking the kiss. Sherlock moved along with John, but when they got into his room, he stopped.

"Should we take off our clothes?" he asked.

John nodded. "Do you want to now? All at once?" He asked.

"I don't know," Sherlock said. "I've only ... done stuff with my hands." He sat down on the bed a bit embarrassed by it all, but not enough to stop wanting to do it.

"Let's go slow, okay? There's no rush or pressure or anything," John said, kissing Sherlock again. He lifted Sherlock's shirt and kissed him again. 

Sherlock pulled on John's shirt, helping him to take his off as well. "You're really handsome," he mumbled a bit stupidly. He realised that he was getting an erection. His whole body felt warm. 

"You too," John said. He looked Sherlock up and down, touching his chest and sides. "You're really sexy."

"No, I'm not," Sherlock said. He moved close to John, pressing their chests together. His hands moved around John's body. He began kissing his neck.

"You are -- very much," John said softly, tilting his head for Sherlock. His hands kept rubbing up and down his back.

"Can we lie down?" Sherlock asked, pulling John towards the bed.

John nodded, taking his jeans off before climbing on the bed. He straddled Sherlock and opened his trousers as well, tugging them down and off. Sherlock rubbed his hands up and down John's thighs. He looked at John's face and then down his body. He could tell John had an erection as well. He wanted to touch John and have John touch him. John glanced down at what Sherlock was looking at, then fixed his eyes on the similar bulge in Sherlock's pants. He leaned down and kissed his way over Sherlock's chest and stomach, nuzzling the length of his cock over the cotton before peeling his pants off.

"Oh God, that feels good," Sherlock moaned softly. His body writhed a bit on the bed. "Please ..." he said even though he wasn't sure why.

John licked a long stripe up the base of his cock, sucking the head into his mouth.

"God," Sherlock exhaled more loudly than he'd expected to. He reached his hand down and just kind of grabbed at John, pulling a bit on his hair.

John sucked lower, using his hand for the base as he bobbed up and down.

Sherlock recognised the feelings his body was having and then worried it would be over too soon. "John," he said, pushing a bit at his head. "Stop ..."

John pulled off slowly. "Don't you like it?" he asked, looking up at Sherlock.

"It's too good," Sherlock said. "Will you lie next to me?"

John nodded, making his way up again and lying beside Sherlock on the bed. He smiled at him. "You didn't have to stop," he said.

"I didn't want to ruin it," Sherlock said. He leaned in and kissed him hard. He put his hand on John's hip and then slowly moved it to hold his cock. He started to stroke it. John arched into Sherlock's hand, trying to keep still to let him work.

"Do you like it like this?" Sherlock said, stroking a little more firmly. "I want to do it like you like." He pressed his face into John's shoulder.

"Everything you're doing is perfect," John mumbled, kissing Sherlock's temple.

Sherlock moved closer into John, pressing a bit over him. He sloppily kissed his mouth as his hand continued to move. He pressed himself against John's thigh. John inched his hand down as they kissed, gripping Sherlock again and stroking to match his rhythm.

Sherlock moaned against John's mouth. He closed his eyes and let himself feel warm and good, unlike he'd ever felt before. He started to lower down John's body. "I want to try it," he said, glancing up at John. John nodded, turning on his back a bit to give Sherlock room. Sherlock kissed down John's stomach and then moved himself so he was between John's legs. He held his cock in his hand and stroked it a few times and then started to lick up and down it. He watched out of the corner of his eye for John's reactions. He flattened his tongue to cover more space and then sucked the tip lightly before moving more of it into his mouth.

John whimpered softly before his head fell back in a low moan. "Sherlock, fuck ..." he sighed.

That definitely sounded like an approval, so Sherlock kept going, taking more inside and then dragging his lips over it as he pulled back. His own hips were rocking against the bed.

John writhed lightly under Sherlock, trying to keep still as the heat built in his belly. "God, it feels good…" he moaned.

Sherlock lifted his head and asked, "Are you going to ... should I stop?"

John nodded. "M'close," he said..

"I don't know what to do," Sherlock said stupidly, but he went back to what he had been doing, holding the base with his hand and moving it as he moved John's cock in and out of his mouth.

"Keep doing that ..."

Sherlock tried to keep going, a little apprehensive but also curious and excited by what was going to happen next. He let one hand drop to his own cock -- he wanted to stroke himself as well but there was too much going on. It felt chaotic and exciting.

John whimpered and let go, moaning Sherlock's name loudly as he came, gripping Sherlock's hair and the sheet beside him. 

Sherlock pulled up as soon as John started to come, not sure how to respond. There was a part of him that wanted to watch, to see it close up, just out of curiosity, but at the same time it was so sexy that he couldn't concentrate or observe properly. He pushed himself up and dropped next to John on the bed. His hand went to his own cock, stroking quickly, saying, "Help me -- I have to ..." He buried his face in John's chest, letting his hips rock as he felt himself getting closer to the edge.

John moved down quickly, kneeling in his own mess a bit as he bent down and sucked Sherlock into his mouth, bobbing quickly up and down. 

"Oh God," Sherlock called loudly, coming almost immediately. "God, John," he moaned again, covering his face as he tried to catch his breath. Then he pulled on John, bringing him up beside him on the bed. "That was amazing," he exhaled and pushed against John to snuggle in.

John nodded. "It was," he sighed softly. He rubbed Sherlock's back lightly. He closed his eyes and focused on breathing normally again.

Sherlock listened to John breathing beside him. "I don't do this," he said. "I mean, I do, I just did but I don't ... like I don't just do this kind of stuff with people. I --" He tried to think of precisely what he wanted to say. "It means something to me, I guess."

John kissed the top of his head. "It means something to me too," he said.

Sherlock lay quietly for a few minutes. "I'd like to do more ... all of it, I mean, with you," he said. "If you want to…"

"I do want to," John said. "I want to share that with you." He hoped Sherlock wouldn't regret it.

Sherlock felt like he wanted to say something else, though he wasn't sure what it was. He squeezed against John even more tightly, closing his eyes and feeling more relaxed than he usually did. He was almost sleepy. Then he heard a noise and, though it took a second, he recognised it as his phone. He scrambled to get his trousers, pulling the phone from his pocket and then moving back. All of a sudden he felt much too naked. He kind of pulled the blanket up and around him a little. "It's a text from my mum. She wants to know if I'll be back for dinner," he said. "Are we still going to get something to eat?"

John propped himself on his elbow and nodded. "I'd like it if you stayed a bit longer."

"I'd like it too," Sherlock said. He quickly sent a text to his mum telling her he wouldn't be there for dinner. Then he sat up a little. "I wish I lived here with you," he said. "I mean, I just wish I didn't live with my family."

John smiled. "I wouldn't mind if you moved in for the rest of the time," he admitted.

"What do you mean? The rest of the night?" Sherlock asked.

"Or you know…until I leave..." John said, picking at the sheet.

"Right," Sherlock said. He'd forgotten about that. "Well, I can't pay any rent so maybe not," he said quickly. "Should we order something or do you want to go out somewhere?"

"You wouldn't have to," John said quickly. "But um, yeah, let's order in," he said. "What're you in the mood for?"

Sherlock wasn't sure if John was serious about the flat, so he decided to just pretend he hadn't heard that comment. "I'm rarely in the mood for food, I'm afraid," he said. "We can get whatever you want."

John could see Sherlock was ignoring what he'd said and blushed lightly, coughing to clear his throat. "Um, Chinese is fine. I mean, there's a good one close by. I'll call," he said, getting up.

"Chinese is good," Sherlock said. "I like fried rice." He got up and followed John. "Let me pay, yeah?"

John called in the order and shook his head, giving his card information over the phone to pay. "It's my treat," he smiled. 

"John," Sherlock scolded. "You should have let me -- my parents have money, I have money. You're working ... it doesn't seem right. But thank you."

John flushed lightly but shook his head and smiled wider. "No, I promise it's fine."

"All right but -- all right," Sherlock said, trying to think how he'd be able to pay John back. The last thing Sherlock wanted to seem was like a child. Or a burden. He only wanted this to be good for both of them. 

John moved back into his room, pulling on a pair of pajama pants before coming back out. 

Sherlock looked over at John. "That's ... you look ... are you in your pajamas?" he asked, smiling widely.

"I can't answer the door naked," John smiled.

"It's ... cute," Sherlock said, blushing a little that he was using that word. But it was true. "How come I like you so much?" he asked even more embarrassed. 

"I'm still asking myself," John smiled. He walked over and kissed Sherlock softly.

Sherlock kissed him back. "I like that a lot as well," he said, squeezing John tight.

John opened his mouth to answer when the door sounded. He hurried to get the food and came back to the kitchen.

Sherlock sat down at the table but stood back up when John came in. "I was going to put plates out but I didn't want to go through your cupboards," he said.

"That's okay. I mean, I wouldn't have minded but we can eat out of the boxes. No dishes," he winked.

"All right," Sherlock said. He took a few bites. "Thanks for dinner," he added.

"Of course," John smiled, passing out the boxes and silverware. 

As they ate, they chatted. It was so strange for Sherlock to feel so comfortable. He told John about some of his experiments and didn't even feel embarrassed. In fact, when John asked questions, Sherlock went into much more detail than he ever did and he really enjoyed the conversation. Sherlock was the most interesting person John had ever met. His experiments sounded fascinating, and he was even cuter the way he lit up when he talked about them. John wished he could see them, or help with one, but he tried not to dwell on that so he could enjoy Sherlock now.

Sherlock ate more of his meal than he'd eaten in one sitting since they'd arrive on holiday. "Could we have a cup of tea?” he asked. "Unless you're ready for me to go?"

"Not at all -- about leaving, I mean. We can of course have tea," John said, getting up to make it.

Sherlock stood up and followed him. "I probably shouldn't stay too much later," he said. "I don't want to trouble you and to be honest I don't want to be hassled by my family, which might happen anyway."

"It's no trouble for me," John insisted, taking out two mugs as the water boiled.

"Well, you have your life or whatever," Sherlock said. "But if I'm honest, mainly I'm just not sure what'll happen when I get home so there's a part of me that just wants to get that over with."

"Will you be in trouble?" John asked as he poured the water.

"No, I mean, I don't think so. It's more ..." Sherlock said, trying to find the best word. "Teasing, I guess. Harassment. Whatever. I'm not sure, but it's likely to not be my favourite part of the night."

"Oh," John said. He remembered the gleeful look on Sherlock's mum's face. "Well, maybe they'll be asleep and you can avoid it."

"Trust me, I can't avoid them," Sherlock said. He took a sip of tea. "Do you know what my favourite part of the night has been so far?" he asked, smiling cheekily.

John bit his lip as he grinned. "The blowjobs?"

"Yes," Sherlock laughed. "And the cheese sandwiches."

John grinned. "Those were definitely my favourite."

Sherlock leaned his head back on the chair. "I wish I didn't have to leave," he said wistfully. "I really like being here." He lifted his head and looked over at John. "With you," he added. He finished his tea and set the mug on the table.

John smiled and almost offered for Sherlock to stay again, but he didn't want to be pushy. "I like having you here."

"Maybe I could come by tomorrow?" Sherlock said. "I can treat for dinner and we could watch a movie or ... do whatever."

John nodded. "Yeah, I'd really like that. I get off at three again."

"Should I come over at four? I don't want to interfere if you have something else or just want to be on your own," Sherlock said.

"Maybe a little after so I have time to come home and shower," John smiled.

"All right, I'll be here," Sherlock said. He stood up. "But text me if you change your mind or anything." He moved into the other room to get his bag.

John nodded. "I won't. I already can't wait," he said, walking Sherlock to the door. "Do you want your leftovers?"

"No thank you," Sherlock said. "Can we kiss good night though?"

"Yes please," John murmured, stepping closer to Sherlock.

Sherlock gave John a long, soft kiss. "Good night," he said and smiled as he turned to head home.

"Good night, Sherlock," John murmured, lifting his hand in a wave before closing the door.

Sherlock walked home in the dark. He wasn't sure what he'd find when he got home. The main thing he didn't want was questions -- he could imagine his mother wanting details, his brother berating him over priorities. He wondered if Mycroft had ever done what Sherlock had done tonight. He doubted it. That could be the only explanation for why Mycroft was so dismissive of love and sex -- he'd obviously never had it and thus didn't understand that it had value. 

When he got home, he took a deep breath and went into the house. He was tempted to rush straight to his room, but didn't want to seem paranoid. He went to the kitchen and put on the kettle.

"Oh, I didn't know you were back," his mum said, a little surprised when she came into the room. "I just came in to get some -- pour me a cup, would you?"   
  
Sherlock did. He carried hers over to the table.

"Thanks," she said. "Have a good time tonight?"

"Yeah," he said. "I did."

"Well, that's good," she said. "You could invite him over here for dinner, if you'd like."  
  
"Maybe," Sherlock said, though he couldn't picture that happening and going very well if it ever did. "I think I'm going to go to bed and read."

"All right," she said. "I'm glad you had fun. See you in the morning."  
  
Sherlock went into his room. That'd been easier than he thought.

John cleaned up the dishes and the food before going back to his room to change his sheets. Her couldn't stop smiling. He went to bed and couldn't sleep thinking about Sherlock, not just the sex but everything else as well. He was glad Sherlock had convinced him to do this. Whatever happened later, this was definitely worth it. 

In bed, Sherlock read for a while and then decided to try to sleep. But before he did, he sent John a quick text.

_I had fun tonight. I'll see you tomorrow. SH_

_I had fun too. I can't wait to see you. -JW_


	5. Sex

When Sherlock woke up in the morning, the room felt different. He opened his eyes and saw his brother sitting on the end of his bed.

"Get out of here," he said, pushing his legs down against Mycroft.

"What do you think you're doing?" Mycroft asked, not shifting at all.

"Trying to get you off my bed," Sherlock said, pulling the blanket up.

"I mean with this boy -- what's your goal? Trying to embarrass the family? Trying to prove something?" Mycroft asked.

"I --" Sherlock didn't quite understand what Mycroft was saying or why he even cared, so he had no real idea how to respond. He sat for a moment and then said, "Get out of here."

"I am just trying to help you, Sherlock," Mycroft said. "This is going to lead to nothing but misery." He stood up. "Trust me," he said and then left the room.

Sherlock closed his eyes and lay back down. He hated his brother right now.

John did his usual jog and duties and hoped that the faster he did them, the more time he'd have when Sherlock arrived.

When Sherlock opened his eyes again, he knew it was too late to go for a swim. He quickly reached for his phone.

_I'm not coming swimming. I still want to see you this afternoon. Don't break up with me please. SH_

He knew it sounded a bit stupid -- he knew if Mycroft ever saw it, he'd say it sounded very stupid -- but he couldn't help feeling a little worried. He got up and dressed and went down to the kitchen for tea. His mum was there making a shopping list.

"Lazy boy," she said.

"Mycroft disturbed my sleep," he explained.

"Well, he's gone off somewhere so you needn't worry about him," she said. "You didn't swim this morning -- I thought you said you had a good time last night."  
  
"I did," Sherlock said. "I just slept too late."  
  
"You sure that's the only reason you didn't go?" She tousled his hair a little.

"Yes, I'm certain," he said, pulling back and taking his mug to the table. He took a sip. "I think I'll be going over to John's this afternoon. And evening as well. So no dinner for me."

"Interesting," she said. "Are you going to sleep there?"

Sherlock coughed a little. "I don't know..." he mumbled. "Would that be all right?"

"You're an adult now," she said. "All I ask is that you let me know what's happening so I don't worry you've got yourself involved in some petty crime or minor explosion." She wanted to look over at him but didn't.

"I'm not sure," he said. "But I'll let you know."

John looked out for Sherlock all morning, but even with the binoculars he didn't see Sherlock anywhere on the beach. He dug out his phone from his bag to message Sherlock when he saw he had one already.

_I'm not going to break up with you. I'll see you later. -JW_

John bit his lip softly. Breaking up implied this was more serious than he'd intended it to get, but maybe it was because this was all so new to Sherlock. It was quite sweet actually, but it still gave him a pang of guilt. He put his phone away. It would be fine. Maybe they could manage long distance. Maybe.

When the next lifeguard came on, John hurried home to shower and tidy up a bit before Sherlock came over.

Sherlock loitered about the house for the rest of the day, trying not to think too much about what might happen this evening. He failed at that, of course. He took a long bath and got ready, stuffing a few things into a bag and then going down to see his parents. "I'll be in touch," he said to his mum quietly, as if they were speaking in a secret code. 

"All right, son," she said, smiling. "Have fun and be careful."

He was grateful he hadn't had to be around Mycroft at all. He headed over to John's.

John couldn't help looking out for Sherlock every few minutes. He kept checking his phone to make sure he didn't miss anything.

Sherlock walked up to John's door, knocking loudly. He was a little overheated so he tried to breathe deeply and relax a little.

John jumped and rushed over to the door, pulling it open with a wide smile. "Hi," he said, moving to let him in.

"Hello," Sherlock said, stepping in quickly. "I missed you all day." He dropped his bag and moved close to John.

John flushed happily. "I missed you too," he said, touching Sherlock's hips.

"You're just -- " Sherlock looked at John and smiled, stepping back a bit to try to be normal. "Anyway, was work okay? Anyone drown?"  
  
"Just what?" John asked, wishing he'd gone in for a kiss. "Work was okay same as always."

"Just ..." Sherlock said, moving in and wrapping his arms around him. "I just like being around you so much."

John buried into his shoulder and smiled as he held him tight. "Me too," he said. "Around you I mean."

Sherlock rested his head on John's. "I've been thinking about last night as well," he said quietly. "I liked all that."

John nodded. "I slept in the bed it happened in," he smiled. He turned his head and kissed Sherlock's throat lightly. 

Sherlock made a little purring noise, which actually surprised him. "I hope we can do more like it," he said. "And maybe we could ... do other things as well?"

John moved up to face him properly. "More, you mean?"

"Yes," Sherlock said. "Like, you know, with the condoms." He felt a bit stupid, but for some reason, he just felt like it would be easier to just get it out in the open.

John bit his lip and smiled. "I would like that. Do you want to now?"

"Um, yes, kind of," Sherlock said. "If you want to, I mean."

John nodded, leading Sherlock to his room. "Is that an overnight bag?" He smiled.

"If you're inviting me," Sherlock said. 

"I am," John nodded, turning to kiss Sherlock.

"Okay," Sherlock said. "I'll text my mum, just to let her know. But in a bit." He stood around awkwardly.

John smiled and leaned up to kiss him.

"This is good," Sherlock said, before kissing John again. How many times in the last 48 hours had he said the word good? He couldn't help it -- it was how John made him feel.

John tugged him closer to the bed, kissing him harder.

Sherlock followed him. He reached down to open the button on John's trousers. "Can we do mouths again first?" he said. "I liked that a lot." He smiled cheekily before kissing John again.

John grinned, working on opening Sherlock's shirt. "Of course," he said.

"Show me how to do it better," Sherlock said, pulling off his shirt. "Take yours off, too."

"You were great," John said, leaning up to kiss him again as he tossed his shirt aside.

"I want to be," Sherlock said. "I just want to make you feel good." He pushed John down on the bed and started to pull on his trousers. John bit his lip and pushed up to pull Sherlock's trousers down before he climbed up on the bed.

Sherlock stripped himself of all of his clothes. "I like being naked with you," he said, his face flushing a bit. He climbed up next to John, curling up a bit with his head near John's hip. He reached out and held John's cock, nuzzling it with his mouth.

"I like everything with you," John said softly, biting his lip as he watched.

Sherlock started licking John's cock, sucking the tip a little. "It's getting harder," he said, smiling.

"Because of you," John said, his breathing heavier.

"I like that idea," Sherlock said. "I kind of like watching it." He glanced at John. "Is that weird?"

John shook his head. "I like watching you, too."

"I'm already hard," Sherlock said, glancing down at himself. "Will you touch me too?" He shifted a little so he could still lean over, but John could reach him if he wanted to. He went back to what he was doing.

John reached down and stroked Sherlock's cock. "Kiss me again," he instructed.

Sherlock reached up and kissed John's mouth. Then he shifted his position and lay beside him. "What should we do now?" he asked, smiling.

John got the lube and condom from the drawer and set them on the bed. "What do you think about trying it?" he asked.

Sherlock's stomach flipped a little. "I want to," he said. "What should I do? How should I ...?"

"Lie on your back, okay?" John kissed him again before moving down his body slowly. He poured lube on his hand, touching Sherlock lightly before slowly pushing his finger in.

Sherlock lay back trying to breathe deeply, but he took a deep, sharp inhale when John's finger moved into him. "It doesn't hurt," he said quickly. "I mean, it kind of feels good. .. ." He brought his hand down and held himself.

John worked his finger slowly, adding a second one gently. "You're so tight ... so good," he whispered.

"Is it going to hurt when you do it?" Sherlock asked quietly. His hand started to move slowly on his cock. He closed his eyes on concentrated on the feelings.

"No, I'll take care of you," John said, kissing his hip. "How does it feel?"

"Like I --" Sherlock thought for a moment. He let his hips rock with John's movement. "Like I want more ... you."

John nodded, pulling his fingers out and rolling the condom on. He leaned down and kissed him again as he lined up, pushing in slowly.

"It hurts a little," Sherlock said. He dropped his hand to the bed and squeezed the sheets.

John paused, gazing down at Sherlock. "Should I stop?"

"For a second," Sherlock said. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He opened his eyes and saw John looking at him. "This is a little weird," he laughed.

John bit his lip. "Bad weird?"

"No, I just mean ... you're lying on top of me, you know, a bit of you inside me," Sherlock said, laughing a little. He put his hands around John's back and took another deep breath. "Do more, just go slow," he said, lifting his head to kiss John.

John started moving slowly, leaning down to kiss him hard again.

"I think it feels good," Sherlock said, kissing him back.. "It feels good ..." He squeezed John's arms. He closed his eyes again, letting his body move with John's movement. "I'll never forget you," he said quietly.

John paused for a moment. "I won't forget you either," he said. He started moving again, slower and deeper. "God ... Sherlock ..."

"God, John," Sherlock said. His slid his hand between their bodies. "I don't know ..." He started stroking himself as he arched his back a bit off the bed. 

"Don't know what, love?" He asked softly, kissing along Sherlock's jaw. His stomach was tight, the heat building quickly.

Sherlock licked his laps and swallowed. "I'm --" he started to say but it was too late. His hips jerked up as he spilled over himself. John gasped, glancing down before he let go and came, thrusting into Sherlock as he moaned loudly.

Sherlock mumbled John's name over and over. He squeezed his arms around John. "I know it's stupid, but I just have so many feelings for you," he said against John's shoulder. 

John buried into Sherlock's neck. "It's not stupid. I feel it, too," he murmured.

"I want to do this stuff with you all the time," Sherlock said.

"Will you stay? Please?" John asked again softly.

"Yes," Sherlock said. "I don't want to go."

John kissed his way to Sherlock's mouth.

Sherlock kissed back. "I guess I'm different now," he said softly.

"Was that really the first time?" John asked, pulling out and tossing the condom before cuddling close.

Sherlock nodded. "I hope I did everything all right," he said.

"It was perfect," he said, kissing Sherlock's cheek. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," Sherlock said. "It hurt a little, but it also felt good."

John nodded. "I'm glad you shared that with me," he said. He was rubbing Sherlock's chest.

"I'm glad it was you," Sherlock said. He stretched a little on the bed. "Everything is different with you."

John nodded. "Did you mean it, when you said you'd stay?"

"I want to," Sherlock said. "Just remind me to text my mum."

John nodded. "You'll need more than an overnight bag," he said, looking at Sherlock's profile.

"What do you mean?"

"For the week and a half," John said, his voice a little softer.

"Stop talking about leaving," Sherlock said, turning his head away.

"I'm talking about you staying," John said. He kept looking at Sherlock, lifting his hand to shake loose the matted curls on the back of his head. 

"But only because you know you're leaving," Sherlock said. "I don't like anyone in the world and now I like you and you're going to leave."

John kept playing with Sherlock's curls. "Let's just think about while we're here together."

Sherlock turned and curled a bit around John. "I don't want you to do that with anyone else," he whispered.

John held him close. "I won't," John said softly. "Just you."

Sherlock lay there silently, thinking about the enormity of what had happened. Yes, the sex part was kind of a big deal -- letting another person inside his body seemed a bit odd on a conceptual level -- but the most dramatic part was that he was pretty sure he was in love with John Watson. He didn't really know the facts of love -- when it should happen, how it should be expressed, what it should mean. But he was pretty it's what he felt. He closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind a little.

John closed his eyes and listened to Sherlock breathing softly beside him. They had certainly failed at casual, but at the same time he was nervous to voice out loud what he thought was happening between them. What he was feeling. He really hoped Sherlock would agree to stay -- it would be perfect to have him here all the time for as long as they could be together.

Sherlock actually slept for a bit and then woke up, a little startled. He turned his head and saw John lying next to him. He pushed himself up and reached down to grab for his trousers. 

"Hmm, what's up?" John murmured, shifting when Sherlock moved. 

"I should ring my mum," Sherlock said, pulling his phone from his pocket and dialing the number.

"Are you all right?" Sherlock's mum said when she answered.

"Yes, obviously," he said. "I'm going to be staying the night here. You wanted me to let you know." He turned his head a bit away from John.

"Okay, then," his mum said. "We'll see you in the morning -- before or after your swim?"  
  
"Um, I don't know," Sherlock said. "I was thinking I might stay here a while but ..." He hadn't really thought about everything. He didn't have his swimming trunks. He didn't know when John worked. "I --" he started again but still didn't have the right words.

"Listen, Sherlock," his mother said calmly. "I think perhaps we should meet John. Why don't you bring him for dinner tomorrow? We'd feel better about all this if we could meet him."

Sherlock glanced over at John. "Hold on," he said to his mum. "Do you want to come to dinner with my parents tomorrow night?" he asked John.

John blinked up at him. "Uh, um ... okay," he agreed cautiously. His stomach flipped nervously.

"Okay," Sherlock said to his mum. "We'll come for dinner tomorrow."  
  
"But you'll come back before, right? I'm not saying you can't spend a few days there, but I want you to come back here in the morning, all right?" she said.

"All right," Sherlock said reluctantly.

"And when we hang up, you text me John's full name, address and number."  
  
"Mum," Sherlock complained, trying to muffle his voice a little.  
  
"I know you're going to say you're not a child and you're right, you're not," she said. "I'd just like to know where my son is, all right?"  
  
Sherlock exhaled. "All right," he said.

"I'll see you in the morning," she said. "Have fun and be safe."  
  
He hung up the phone and texted his mum the information she wanted. "Sorry about all that," he said to John.

"It's fine," John smiled. "Was she okay?"

"Yes," Sherlock said. "It's just embarrassing that she treats me like a child -- I'm sorry ... . I'm just embarrassed." He slid down the bed a little to put his head on the pillow.

"Well, that's how parents are," John said.

"Well, it's still embarrassing," Sherlock said. "I wish I was more like you, I guess."  
  
"My mom embarrasses me too, don't worry." John smiled at him. "It's fine."

Sherlock pushed John's arm a little. "Do you want some food or something?" he asked.

"Yeah," John nodded. "You've built my appetite."

Sherlock pulled a cheeky face and pushed himself up out of bed. He groaned a little. "I'm sore," he said as he reached for the rest of his clothes to get dressed.

John grinned. "I am sorry," he said.

"It's okay, though, right? It won't always be like this?" Sherlock asked.

John shook his head. "It won't always be like that."

"But you'll do it again to me, if I want?" Sherlock asked. "Which I do want you to do." He buttoned up his shirt.

"Any time you want," he smiled.

"Are you going to get your lazy backside up or what?" Sherlock said, sitting down on the bed to put his shoes back on. "Are we going out or ordering in?" he asked, pulling on the blanket to expose John's naked body.

John stretched wide for Sherlock and grinned. "We can go out," he said as he sat up.

"Come on then," Sherlock said.

John stood up and got dressed. "Where are you taking me?"

"We could go to this little chippy that's good. We don't have to go anywhere fancy, do we?" Sherlock asked. "Their fish is good."

"That sounds perfect," John said. He cleaned up a bit and got dressed, making sure he had his phone and wallet.

Sherlock led the way. There were a few old couples in there, but no kids. They carried their food out to the beach and sat underneath the pier. Once they'd finished eating, they walked along the shore.

"I've never slept the whole night with someone," Sherlock said, looking forward to watch for stones in the water. "I hope I don't do anything strange while I sleep."

"It might be something cute," John smiled.

"I doubt that," Sherlock said, kicking a little water over at John. "I already do enough embarrassing things in front of you."

John laughed as he skirted away. "You've been adorable," he grinned.

"I don't want to be adorable," Sherlock said. "I want to be, you know, just normal. Well, not normal -- that's too high of a goal. I just want to be what you like."

"You are. I like you a lot," John said.

Sherlock stopped and looked at John. "I like you, John," he said. "I do ... I can't tell you how much. I don't even understand it myself. But I do."

John leaned up and kissed him. "Me too," he said. "I mean it's ... .more than I've felt for anyone else." He flushed lightly and kicked the water.

"Because of the sex, you mean?"

"No, just everything. Everything with you is different." John bit his lip and looked up again.

"It's odd, isn't it?" Sherlock said. "But good. I like everything about you and all the things we've done."

John smiled and kissed him again. He took Sherlock's hand as they kept walking. "I'm glad you came to my table that night."

"I only came over because I saw you that morning," Sherlock said. "I wonder why it happened as it did."

John shrugged. "I try not to question it too hard."

"Questioning things is kind of what I do," Sherlock said. "But I'll try not to either. I just want to enjoy it." He looked up. "We should head back." 

John nodded and led the way back to his flat. "So, since you're staying the night do you want to do anything like before again?" he asked casually.

"Um, yes, I think I might," Sherlock said, trying to sound equally casual.

"Good," John nodded. "Very good."

Sherlock's stomach made a little jump, and he wished he hadn't eaten that greasy food. "Could we have a cup of tea first when we get back?" he asked.

"Yeah, of course. There's no schedule," John said.

"Good," Sherlock said. He smiled over at John as they made their way back to his flat. Sherlock went into the kitchen with John and sat at the table while he made the tea. They took it back into the sitting room and sat on the small sofa. Sherlock took a sip of tea. "I'm thinking about sex things," he said awkwardly. "I'm wondering what else you might do to me."

"Is there something specific you're thinking about?" John asked.

Sherlock turned his head a little to the side. "I'll be honest with you, John," he said. "I don't know -- I don't know what else there is to do. I mean, well, that's what I mean. You know I've not done most of it and I've never watched porn or anything, so I just don't know what else there is."

"I mean ... we could switch," John said.

Sherlock thought for a moment, trying to figure out what John meant. Then he understood. "I don't think I should do it to you," Sherlock said. "I like how you do it to me."

"You don't want to try? Ever?" John asked. 

"I don't know," Sherlock said. "Do we have to?" He reached over and touched John's hand but buried his face in his mug.

"We don't have to," John said. He looked down at their hands and then at his mug. "I like that, too, but I guess I can use a toy," he added, his face flushing lightly. 

"Toy?" Sherlock asked. "Do you do crazy stuff or what?" He was curious but also a bit embarrassed by his lack of experience.

"No, that's not something crazy," John said.

"Are you going to do the toy thing to me?" Sherlock said. He put his mug down and kind of curled around John, pressing his face into his chest. "I want everything to just be mine and yours."

"We can try everything. We don't have to tonight," he said. 

"But we --" Sherlock started and then squeezed John tight. He lifted his head and said, "Let's go to your bedroom."

John leaned down and kissed him. They didn't have a lot of time and they both knew that. He hated it, and holding Sherlock now he knew he had been selfish. Despite how much it would hurt him when he had to leave, Sherlock would be losing so much more. It didn't matter if he wouldn't do it to John. There wasn't much time, and John wasn't going to waste it wanting something Sherlock didn't want. He liked Sherlock so much -- probably loved him -- that he would selflessly give Sherlock anything he wanted while he had him. He kissed Sherlock harder before standing to lead the way to his room. 


	6. More Sex

Sherlock followed along. When they got into the room, he started to take off his clothes. "You too," he said to John, smiling eagerly.

John followed suit, pulling his shirt over his head. He opened and pushed down his trousers, watching Sherlock. 

Sherlock watched John and then pulled him onto the bed. "Can you use your mouth first?" he asked. "It's so good."

John nodded, kissing Sherlock's mouth before crawling down and pushing his knees apart a bit. He leaned down and sucked Sherlock's cock into his mouth, bobbing up and down steadily. 

Sherlock made a small noise as John's mouth covered him. "God," he said more loudly than he meant to. "I want to do everything." He reached down and touched John's hair.

John swallowed down, hollowing his cheeks a bit to give Sherlock different sensations.  

Sherlock instinctively began to move his hips slightly. He pressed his head back against the pillow and closed his eyes. "Just a little longer ... I don't want it to end yet," he mumbled.

John opened his mouth a bit and took Sherlock deeper, the head pressing into his throat as he moved down on Sherlock's cock. 

"Oh god, stop," Sherlock said, pushing himself up a bit. "I don't know how you do all that, but it's almost too good." He dropped back down and tried to catch his breath. "Come up here," he mumbled. "Let's kiss until I settle down a bit."

John crawled up and kissed Sherlock's mouth.  Sherlock kissed John back and then rolled so he was lying on top of him. He kept kissing him but start to move his hips against John's body. John groaned softly as he gripped Sherlock's hips and moved with him. 

"This feels good," Sherlock said. He slid his arms under John's armpits and gripped his shoulders. "Is this what it'd feel like if I was doing it to you?" he asked, smiling as he kissed John again.

John nodded. "But so much better," he added as he kissed Sherlock back. "So much more..."

That intrigued Sherlock because this felt pretty good as it was. John knew everything about sex compared to Sherlock. He rolled them over so John was on top of him. "Do it to me," he said. "So you feel that good."

John leaned down and kissed his mouth, still moving his own hips. He leaned up and got the lube and condoms again. He poured lube on his fingers and rubbed Sherlock before pushing one inside, gazing up at him as he pumped his finger slowly. 

Sherlock let his eyes close, losing himself to pleasure. But he wasn't lost in his head like usual. He wasn't alone. John was here, John was essential to this feeling, and Sherlock never ever wanted it to be any different.

John leaned down and kissed Sherlock's hip and stomach and thighs, adding a second finger, stretching them to open Sherlock. 

"Kiss my mouth," Sherlock mumbled, lifting his head and reaching for John.

John came up and kissed Sherlock's mouth as he pumped his fingers a bit faster, curling them to tease his prostate for a moment.

"God," Sherlock called out loudly. "Am I too loud? Are you going to do it soon? Oh my god, my head is ... I don't feel like I'm making sense."

John pulled his fingers out and rolled on the condom. "You're perfect," he said, leaning over Sherlock again as he slowly pushed inside.

Sherlock groaned loudly. "It doesn't hurt," he mumbled before realising that wasn't a very sexy thing to say. He leaned up and kissed John. "Move," he said. "More…"

John complied, rolling his hips easily as he kissed Sherlock again.

Sherlock slipped his hand between their bodies and started to stroke himself. "Can you do it ... harder?" he asked. "I want to feel ..." he started but he didn't know quite how to finish the sentence. He closed his eyes instead. John started to snap his hips harder, pushing into Sherlock faster. Sherlock squeezed an arm around John as he continued to try to stroke himself. All of a sudden, he knew what he wanted -- he wanted to feel like he belonged to John. He didn't say it aloud, but that's what he wanted. He wanted to tell John he'd do anything John asked. He wanted to tell John not to leave. He opened his eyes and suddenly he felt his body jerking. "God, John --" he started to say but then everything was out of his control and he came against John's stomach.

John gasped as he felt Sherlock come and squeeze around his cock. He thrust a few more times before he let go and came, moaning Sherlock's name loudly.

Sherlock wrapped his arms around John, holding their bodies together as they both tried to catch their breaths. "I loved that," he said. "Thank you."

John nodded against Sherlock's neck, panting to catch his breath.

Sherlock shifted a little. "Can I still stay the night?" he asked.

"Of course you can," John murmured. He shifted to pull out, threw out the condom, and lay curled against Sherlock with his head on Sherlock's chest.

"I wish we could do that all the time," Sherlock confessed. "Even though I still hate those people I went to college with, I now have some insight into why they were so focused on trying to have sex with each other. It's really good." He looked over at John. "Because it's you."

John looked up and smiled, rubbing his chest lightly. "It does feel really good," he agreed. "Better with you. I hope you're don't regret sharing it with me."

Sherlock closed his eyes. "I don't," he said. "I won't."

John lay on Sherlock's chest again and listened to his heart beating. "I'm nervous about tomorrow," he admitted.

"Why? What's happening?" Sherlock asked.

"Meeting your family," John answered.

"Oh, right, I forgot about that," Sherlock said. He thought for a moment. He didn't want Mycroft interacting with John, that was for sure, but at the same time, there was something so obvious about his family meeting John -- if he was going to live here, if he was going to be with John forever, then of course they'd need to meet him. "It'll be fine," he said.

John bit his lip and didn't say anything else, watching his fingers trace circles on Sherlock's chest.

Sherlock turned on his side to face John. "Here's the thing: my dad, oblivious, you don't need to worry about him. My mum, well, she's all interested in happiness and all of that, so just be your naturally sweet self and you'll charm here. My brother's more of a complication, but hopefully he won't be around," he said. "Okay? You can trust me now -- it'll be fine."

"I do trust you, but I'm still nervous," John admitted. "But I'll be okay."

Sherlock reached over and pinched John's side lightly. "Why would you be nervous?" he laughed. "You're brilliant and all you have to do is meet a couple people. I'm the one who should be nervous about all this." He pushed playfully at John's chest.

"Why would you be? They're your family," John laughed.

"Because," Sherlock said, pushing on him again. "You know. . ." He lay back down and hid his face a little. "Because all of this is new to me and the sex stuff and I just don't want anything to get ruined."

"I hope we won't be discussing the sex stuff," John teased. 

"I don't mean about them," Sherlock said. "I mean, it will be odd with them -- just unusual since I've never brought someone to meet them. I just mean, all of this stuff is new to me and I feel stupid because you know so much more."

"Not that much more. It's different with everyone. Different with you."

Sherlock looked over at John. He couldn't really explain how big this all was, how different it made him feel. He touched John's face lightly. "Should we go to sleep now?" he asked.

"If you're tired," he smiled softly. "I'm not just yet but I don't mind lying with you."

"No, I want to do what you're doing," Sherlock said and then felt a bit embarrassed by how childish he knew he sounded. He pushed his head up a bit, propping himself up on the pillow. "What should we do?"

John shrugged. "I don't know. I like hanging out with you. Let's just lie here together for a bit. I don't mind if you sleep. I will soon."

Sherlock sat there for a few moments, closing his eyes. "John," he asked, without opening his eyes. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," John said, studying Sherlock's face.

"Can I ... look at you?"

John's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, your whole body," Sherlock said. "I mean, I know I've kind of seen it but each time I was ... concentrating on something else, you know. I think the body is quite interesting, but mainly I've only ever really seen mine. Could I look at yours?"

John flushed lightly but he nodded, lying on his back and pushing the covers off.

"I'm sorry I'm odd but ... thank you," Sherlock said. "Here, hold on." He got out of bed and rushed to the bathroom, coming back with a damp flannel. "Okay, just pretend I'm just cleaning you up rather than looking at you." He got back on the bed and sat next to John. He ran the cloth over John's chest and then his stomach, wiping up the mess he'd left there. Then he slowly moved it down and covered John's cock with it, rubbing it a little. Then he abandoned the pretense and kind of bent over to look at it. It wasn't entirely different than his own, but not quite the same either. It was kind of difficult to imagine that it'd been inside Sherlock's body -- it was soft now and looked like it was sleeping actually. Sherlock's face flushed a bit when he thought that. He couldn't stop being embarrassed by how childish he was sometimes. He looked up at John and asked, "Do you think you could make it hard? I mean, like on command? Just curious."

John shrugged. "I mean, not right away but if you give me a few minutes," he said. It was odd letting Sherlock look at him so closely. But he wasn't nervous or shy. Not with Sherlock.

Sherlock smiled and drew his finger down John's chest. "You're muscular," he said. "I bet you were really popular when you were in school."

John flushed lightly and smiled. "I suppose."

"I wasn't," Sherlock said. He slid down the bed and moved between John's legs. He started to rub them, gripping his thighs, massaging them. "Have you ever actually saved someone at the beach or do you just like showing off your body?" he asked.

"I've saved people before. Three adults and two kids," John said. He kept watching Sherlock. His hands felt good.

"Should I be impressed?" Sherlock said, smiling.

"That's not why I do it," John said.

Sherlock leaned back and pulled the covers all the way off the bed. He stood up over John and looked down at him. "You are completely nude," he said. 

John grinned as Sherlock stood. "You are too."

"I know, but I'm nothing special," Sherlock laughed. "I've seen me all my life. This is the first time I've ever been in the presence of a nude man. It may be the greatest moment of my life."

John laughed and shook his head. "Well, I can tell you that you're definitely something special."

Sherlock dropped down onto the bed and covered himself a bit with the blanket. "Am not," he mumbled. "Can we turn the light off? I think I might be ready for sleep."  
  
"Sure," John said, reaching over to turn the lamp off. John cuddled close to him again and sighed softly.


	7. Dinner With Sherlock's Parents

When Sherlock woke up, he wasn't sure quite what to do. John was still sleeping next to him, but he couldn't see a clock and didn't know if John was working and he should wake him up. He also remembered that he'd promised his mum he'd come home and felt panicked that it was too late. Luckily, a few moments later John's alarm went off. Sherlock pushed on his arm. "John, your alarm's going off," he said.

John shifted and turned the alarm off, yawning and stretching before smiling over at Sherlock. "Hi," he smiled, kissing him softly.

"Hi," Sherlock said. "I slept over. Which is obvious, but it's the first time I've ever done it so that's why I'm stupidly mentioning it."  
  
John smiled wider. "I'm happy you did. I have to get ready for work, will you come for a swim?"

"I didn't bring my stuff," Sherlock said. "And I actually need to go home ...I'm sorry but I told her I would."

"Oh, okay. Yeah," John said, pushing himself up.

"Are you still coming to dinner though?" Sherlock asked.

"Yeah," he said. "Of course. Should I just meet you?"

"Do you want to come straight to mine or do you want to meet somewhere first?" Sherlock said. "I'll have to talk to my mum about the time and everything ... I can text you."

"Text me. I'll come home and shower and then come right over."

Sherlock glanced at John. "It'll be all right," he reassured him. He wasn't entirely sure how it would be, but it would have to be because this was going to be one of the most important nights of his life so far. But he didn't say any of that. "Just -- could you try not to be so sexy? It might distract me a bit." He smiled cheekily.

John grinned. "I can't just turn this off," he said, motioning to his whole self. 

Sherlock walked John to the beach and then headed back to the house. He tried to sneak in quietly, dumping his things on the bed and then coming back out of his room to make a cup of tea. Like it was a normal morning. Except it wasn't because today he was no longer a virgin and was in love.

His mum came in and got a mug. "Good morning," she said in a way that made Sherlock realise that she too was trying to sound normal. He appreciated her effort, but the fact that she had to try meant she knew also knew things were different.

"Morning," he said. He knew this was the start of what was likely to be a very unusual conversation.

"So ..." she said, taking a sip of tea. "I suppose there are some things we need to talk about."  
  
"We used condoms," Sherlock interrupted, rolling his eyes. Why on earth did she have to give this lecture again?  
  
His mum stared into her teacup. "Well, that's good," she said quietly. "But, um, that's not what I thought we should talk about."  
  
Sherlock's face turned hot and red.

"You mentioned staying with John for a while ..." she continued, sensing his embarrassment and doing her best not to add to it. "You are, of course, legally an adult and therefore can make your own decisions. However, you are also our son and our concern for you did not end on your sixteenth birthday. Therefore, your father and I would like to meet John, and we hope that our informed opinion on the matter will be taken into consideration when you make your decision."  
  
"I already know my decision," Sherlock said. "I want to be with him all the time." He too was looking down at his tea.

"Still, please allow us to have our say," she said. "Is he going to come to dinner tonight?"

"Yes, but I don't want Mycroft there."  
  
"I'll see what I can do about that," she said. She glanced over at her son, his hair covering his eyes. "Look up at me, Sherlock," she said.

He did.

She saw what she had been expecting to see. "So," she said. "You think you love him."

"Yes," he answered even though she hadn't actually asked a question.

"It is quite natural to want to be with him all the time," she said. "But moving in with someone is quite big, especially so quickly and especially in this situation."  
  
"What situation?"

"You know," she said. "A holiday romance."  
  
"It's not that," he said.

"Okay," she said. "What is it?"  
  
"It's --" Sherlock started and then stopped. He was a smart person and his mother was as well. She needed a proper answer and he wanted to give her one. He thought for a moment. "It's true."

"Well, I know you, Sherlock, and I know you are not the type to become involved in something like this unless it felt very real to you. But why the rush? If it's true, surely you can survive sleeping here at night."  
  
"It doesn't 'feel' very real -- it is real," he corrected her. "It's just that we don't have much time," he added though he immediately regretted doing so.

"Why? What's going on?" she asked, her voice a bit concerned. "Has he told you something to make you feel like you have to rush?"  
  
"No, it's not that," he said. "It's not 'peer pressure.'" He rolled his eyes at her suggestion. "He's ... well, he's leaving soon. For the army. So I've only got a couple of weeks to be with him until he comes back."

"I see," she said. "And you're going to be together when he comes back?"

"Obviously."  
  
"And when will that be?"

"Um, I'm not sure ... but it doesn't matter. We'll be together. I know it."

They were both quiet for a moment.

"Okay, son," she said as she stood up. "Dinner's at five."

Sherlock watched her leave. He was going to stay at John's regardless of what his parents thought of him, but he really hoped they would be able to see that the two of them were meant to be together.

John did his morning jog, changing the flags as he went and thinking about everything that was going on with Sherlock. Whatever hopes he had of keeping things casual had long since disappeared. He was now Sherlock's first, he asked Sherlock to stay with him, and he was now going to meet Sherlock's family. Things were moving very quickly. When he got back to his chair, Sarah was waiting for him. 

"Just a peace offering," she said, holding up a bag of food. He smelled eggs and bacon. "Sorry for freaking out."

John shrugged. "It's okay," he told her. He took the bag and smiled. "Thanks." He took a deep breath. "Sorry if I gave you the wrong idea."

Sarah shrugged and looked out at the water. "I knew you liked both. I just thought ... I don't know. It doesn't matter."

John nodded, unsure of what to say. He didn't know how to make her feel better, but he couldn't change his feelings. She was a friend and always would be.  

"You're spending a lot of time with him -- it's going well?"

"We don't have to talk about it," he told her. 

She shook her head. "That's what friends do, right?" She smiled. 

"Yeah," he nodded. "Yeah, it's going well. But I'm leaving, you know? I don't know what to do about that."

"Just enjoy it. The day you leave will be hard enough, and I know you'll be thinking about it for a long time afterward."

John raised his brows. "Is that supposed to help?"

Sarah shrugged. "Doesn't matter. It's the truth. You won't be able to let it go afterward, so let it go now. Don't think about the bad stuff while you're still in the good stuff. That'll be ... double bad." She laughed at herself and shook her head. "I know that sounds lame, but you know what I'm saying, right?"

John nodded. "He wants me to meet his parents."

Sarah laughed louder that time, making a sympathetic face. "That's all you," she said. She started backing away as cars started to pull up on the beach. "Good luck with that."

John rolled his eyes and climbed into his chair, watching the beach slowly fill. He made a resolution to not think about the end of these weeks until it actually arrived. He wanted to enjoy this with Sherlock as much as possible. At the end of his shift he went home and showered, taking a long time to get dressed for different reasons now. He wanted to look nice -- Sherlock and his family that night looked very sharp -- but John didn't have anything like that and he hoped his dark slacks and button up shirt would be okay. He even put on his nice jumper his mum always made him wear to church. He fussed his hair a bit and then set to pacing, waiting for Sherlock's text. 

Sherlock spent most of the afternoon tidying up. He started with his room and then realised he'd moved to the rest of the house, just trying to make it look ... nice was the only word that came to mind. His brother, it turned out, was gone for the day, which his mum obviously knew when she'd invited John over. Sherlock appreciated that greatly. He sent a text to John about the time and then began fussing his mother about dinner. She shooed him out of the kitchen, assuring him she knew how to cook a meal on her own. He took a book outside into the garden and lay down to read it. But he didn't. He closed his eyes and thought about last night and wondered what else they might do in John's bed tonight. When it got close to time, Sherlock got himself ready which mainly consisted of pacing around the kitchen, annoying his mother.

John made his way over to Sherlock's, thinking maybe he should have bought something for Sherlock's mum on the way over. It was too late now, and his stomach twisted as he knocked on the door.

Sherlock froze when he heard the knock. "Go answer it, silly," his mother said, trying not to smile at him.

He rushed to the door, opening it and pulling on John's arm to bring him in. "I missed you," he said at the precise second he also leaned in to kiss him. "Sorry," he mumbled. "My brother's not here. I'm fine, everything's fine. How are you?"

John couldn't help giggling lightly at Sherlock's behaviour. "I'm okay. I didn't bring anything and I feel really bad. Should I run out? I'm sorry." He paused in his rambling and kissed him. "I missed you too."

"No, you're fine," Sherlock said. "Just say something nice about the food even if you don't like it, but you probably will because she's a good cook." He took John's hand. "Okay, come on, let's get this over with."  
  
He led him into the kitchen. "Mum, this is John," he said.

She wiped her hands on a tea towel and moved over to John. "Well, John," she said. "It's very nice to meet you."

John stuck out his hand to shake with her, smiling nervously. "It's nice to meet you, too."

She smiled genuinely and shook his hand. "It won't be long until we eat," she said. "Why don't we sit down and chat over a cup of tea?"

"Mum," Sherlock groaned.

"Just a chat, Sherlock," his mum said, motioning for them to sit down. She moved over to the kettle.

"Do you mind?" Sherlock asked John quietly.

John shook his head. He didn't have a choice -- he wasn't going to tell Sherlock's mum he didn't want to talk to her. He waited for Sherlock to pick a seat and then sat beside him, tapping his fingers lightly on the table. He wanted to hold Sherlock's hand but wasn't sure if it was appropriate.

Sherlock's mum brought two cups of tea over. "No biscuits, though," she smiled. "So you don't spoil your dinner." She got hers and sat down across from them. "So, John, how do you find our Sherlock? It seems like you two are getting on well," she said. "How did you meet?"

"I'm a lifeguard on the beach," John said. He took a sip of tea and didn't elaborate. He wondered what Sherlock had told them when he came to sit with him at dinner that day.

"Sherlock says you'll be leaving soon..." she said.

"Yes, I'll be leaving soon. I'm going to train with the army," John said.

"That's quite a big decision," she said. "I presume you've investigated it. Are your parents supportive?"

"It's just my mum. She doesn't like it, but it's a smart career move." John shifted nervously. "I want to be a surgeon."

"Admirable," she said.

"Done?" Sherlock asked.

"We're just chatting, Sherlock," she said. "Why don't you go find your father and tell him it's time for dinner? Perhaps John could help me set the table."  
  
"I can do that," Sherlock said.

"Go," she said. "John and I will be fine together."

Sherlock glanced at him and then went to find his father.

Sherlock's mum handed John some plates. "So ... Sherlock's told you he's not really had much experience with romance?" she asked.

John flushed lightly and held the plates tighter until he set them safely on the table. "He did, yeah."

"Sherlock is very smart," she said. "He is wise beyond his years really, but ... he's not always good with new things. I hope he's being kind to you."

John looked up at her. "He's perfect." He flushed and looked down. "He's ... I don't want to hurt him. I didn't mean for it ... I'm glad to know him, of course but ..." He stopped rambling and took a deep breath. "I like him a lot."

"He is good," she smiled. "But changes are hard for him. This is a good change, it seems, I can see that. But soon you'll be leaving ... it worries me, I'll admit," she said as she set down the silverware. "I know I'm interfering and perhaps I'm being inappropriate, but have you thought about what will happen when you leave?"

John swallowed hard. "I don't like to think about it. I shouldn't have let it get as far as it did, I'm sorry about hurting him, but I can't pretend I wish I hadn't met him."

"Well, I'm not suggesting you stop seeing each other -- it's lovely seeing my son so happy. I guess ... I guess I just wanted to say be careful with his heart," she said. She smiled genuinely and touched John's arm lightly. "I'm glad you came over."

"Me too," John said, feeling even more guilty now about the fact that he's going to be leaving.

Sherlock came into the room, his father walking behind him. He glanced over at John and then at his mother and back at John. "Father, this is John," he said. He pulled out a chair for John to sit down. "Do you need any help bringing things in, Mum?" he asked, trying to sound calm.

Sherlock's dad looked over at John. "Good to meet you," he said, sitting down.

Sherlock and his mum brought the food in. "What do you want to drink, John?" Sherlock asked.

"Um, water, I suppose. Or whatever you're having."

"I've opened a bottle of wine, Sherlock, just sit down," his mum said, grabbing the bottle and moving to pour each glass.

Sherlock sat down next to John, looking over and giving him a little smile. He looked at his mother who was also smiling and said, "Try to eat something, all right?"

"I will," he said. He handed John the salad bowl. "She makes the dressing. It's quite good."

John smiled and served himself, passing the bowl along to Sherlock's dad. "It all looks really great," he said.

When the salad bowl made it around the table, Sherlock put quite a bit on his plate. He knew he could eat more of this than of the casserole his mum had made.

"John's going to be a surgeon," Sherlock's mum told his dad.

"That so?" he said. "Very admirable. A lot of work, though. And did I hear you were going into the army?"

"I am, yes," John told him. He took the casserole next, putting some on his plate as well before passing it along. He couldn't stop looking over at Sherlock and then at his mum. He couldn't stop thinking about what she'd said.

Sherlock's mum helped the conversation move, sharing stories of Sherlock's experiments, which led to questions from John and answers from Sherlock. Soon it was quite comfortable between the four of them, and Sherlock was sure his parents liked John. Once they'd finished, he offered to make coffee and brought the pot to the table with some biscuits.

"Are you going to John's after dinner?" his mum asked.

"I was thinking I might," Sherlock said tentatively.

"The Winstons are coming over on Sunday afternoon," she said. "Do you think you could stop by while they're here? John's welcome to come as well."

Sherlock glanced up at her. Sunday was four days away. "Of course," he said, smiling. He finished his coffee and then pushed his chair back. "I think I'll show John around now," he said. "And then I need to pack up a few things."

John followed Sherlock out of the dining room. "It's going pretty well, right?"

"I think so," Sherlock said. "Do you like them?"

John nodded. "Everyone is really nice."

"Good," Sherlock said. "Well this is this room. Let's go to mine." He pulled John down the hallway and into his room. "This is it ... I mean, it's not really mine, but it's where I stay."

John looked around at the room and smiled as he saw all the books. "It's nice," he smiled.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Well, it's just . .. I don't know," he said, sitting down. "Come sit on the bed with me for a minute."

John glanced down the hall before nodding and following him inside.

Sherlock scooted closer. "If I stay at yours, I need you to promise to tell me if I annoy you or if you just want some privacy or whatever. I'm not always good at ... just sometimes it's easier for me if people are just outright truthful. All right?"

John nodded. "I promise. And you're allowed to as well," he said.

"All right," Sherlock said. He put his arm around John's back and leaned in to kiss him. John kissed him back softly, lifting his hand up to Sherlock's chest.

Sherlock continued the kiss and then pulled back, standing up. "I should pack some things up," he said and grabbed a bag.

John nodded. "Yeah. I'm glad you're coming over. I'm happy."

Sherlock grabbed some clothes. "I'll just bring enough until Sunday and I can get more then if you still want me to stay," he said. "Will you be working every morning?"

"I don't work weekends," John said.

Sherlock pulled out his swimming trunks and put them in the bag. "I can come swimming with you in the morning, but ... what will I do while you're working?" he asked.

"You can stay at my flat, I don't mind."

Sherlock decided not to think too much about it right now. "Okay," he said. He nipped to the bathroom to get his stuff and then grabbed his laptop bag. "Let's go back down for a bit before we leave."

"Okay. Obviously I don't mind you hanging out with me all day, but I know you don't like being in the sun that much."

"It'll be fine," Sherlock said, closing the door to his room. He stopped close to John before they went to find his parents. "Are you going to have sex with me tonight?" he whispered.

John grinned. "I think I am."

"Good," Sherlock said. He smiled but inside he felt like giggling which is something he pretty much never did. How could John change him so much?

His parents were sitting in the back garden. Sherlock made tea for everyone, and the two went out and sat down.

"It's a nice night," his mum said, smiling over at them.

"It is," Sherlock agreed.

John stood by Sherlock and admired the garden. They had a really nice house.

"Would you two like a ride back to John's?" his mum asked.

Sherlock looked over at John.

John shrugged. "We can walk if you like," he said.

"We'll walk," Sherlock announced. "But thanks anyway."

His mum stood up. "Well, I'm going in now," she said. "You won't forget about Sunday, right?" she asked.

"I won't," Sherlock assured her. He stood as well. "We'll head off then."

His father followed his mum in, both calling goodbye.

"Let's go to your place," Sherlock said, moving to the door to grab his things.

John thanked them for having him over before taking Sherlock's hand and following him out. "That went well, yeah?"

"I think it did," Sherlock said. "Obviously they like you and ... I don't know, that was important to me, I guess."  
  
John smiled and squeezed Sherlock's hand. "I liked them too," he said.


	8. Sherlock Moves In

When they got back to John's, Sherlock dropped his bag by the door. "Should we go to bed right away?" he asked eagerly.

John grinned. "Romance me to it," he teased.

Sherlock thought for a second. He reached over and grabbed John at the hips and pulled on him. He kissed his mouth hard and then stepped back. He turned and ran to John's room.

John laughed and hurried after him. "Sherlock!"

Sherlock kicked off his shoes and slipped into the bed, fully dressed. "Come find me," he said stupidly.

John laughed and crawled under the covers from the feet, crawling over Sherlock's body.

Sherlock pulled John to him and kissed his mouth. "So far, I like staying here," he said, laughing a little before kissing him again.

John straddled him properly and kissed him harder.

"Oh no," Sherlock said, squeezing John's thighs. "I'm starting to learn your moves ... "

"Is that bad?" John asked, kissing down his throat.

"Not at all," Sherlock said. "I'm already getting an erection." His face went a bit warm.

"Me too," John said, grinding his hips down on Sherlock's.

"Maybe I should ... " Sherlock said, pushing John down on the bed next to him. "Well, first -- take off your clothes."

John started to strip slowly, smiling at Sherlock.

Sherlock scooted down the bed, trying to pull on John's trousers. "Do you know what I'm going to do?" he asked.

John shook his head, watching him.

"Put it in my mouth," Sherlock said. He kissed John's belly.

John moaned softly. "That sounds good," he murmured. 

Sherlock held John's cock at the base and then slowly covered it with his mouth. He recognised John's taste now. He moved his tongue around it, trying to keep all of his movements slow and deliberate. John lifted his head to watch, biting his lip as Sherlock worked. It was sexy to watch, and it felt incredible. 

"Do you like how I do it?" Sherlock said, lifting up to look at John. "Do you want me to do anything else?"

"It feels good," John said. "Whatever you do feels good." 

"Will you do it to me in a bit?" Sherlock said. He nuzzled at John's cock before licking it up and down.

John nodded. "Of course I will. I'll do anything you like," he murmured. 

"Will you do it to me now then?" Sherlock asked cheekily.

John bit his lip and tried not to look disappointed at his short turn. "If you want to, yes," he said. It didn't matter, after all. He wanted to make Sherlock happy.

Sherlock saw John's face and then an idea came to him. "Could we do it at the same time ... like if I moved the other way?" he asked.

John lifted onto his elbows. "I've never tried it that way. But yeah, we could do that," he said.

For some reason Sherlock really liked that this would be new to John as well. He shifted on the bed, lying beside John but with his head towards the end of the bed. He curled his body a little and then leaned forward to hold John's cock before taking it into his mouth.

John huffed out a breath before taking Sherlock into his mouth as well, bobbing into his lap and trying to look down at him as well.

Sherlock pulled his head back. "Oh god, John," he moaned quietly. He didn't think he'd ever get used to how good John's mouth felt on him. He took a deep breath and tried to focus on John's cock, kissing and licking it and taking it in and out of his mouth. John hummed his reply as he moved his head back and forth, hollowing his cheeks around Sherlock's cock. Sherlock kept his movements slow to try to concentrate on all of the feelings his body was having. Everything was so good. John swallowed him deeper, shifting on the bed a bit to take him more easily. 

After a few more minutes, Sherlock pulled off and looked down. What John was doing was so sexy, it was almost too much. "You're so good at that," he mumbled. "But we might have to stop," he added, pulling back his hips a bit.

John pulled off slowly and shifted to meet Sherlock's gaze. "We can try something new ..."

Sherlock scrambled around, lying face to face with John. He kissed him sloppily all over his face and then looked at him closely. "Okay," he said as pressed his body even closer.

"Wait here," John instructed, kissing him once before climbing out of bed.

Sherlock pulled off the rest of his clothes and then sat eagerly, watching John.

John came back with a vibrator, climbing on the bed. "Can I use this on you?"

Sherlock looked it over. "Yes," he said first, but then added, "Will it hurt?"

"No. It'll be easier than taking me."

Sherlock pushed himself up a little to see precisely what John was doing. "Do I do anything?" he asked quietly.

John shook his head, sucking the toy lightly. He used lube to slowly open Sherlock as he sucked.

"John," Sherlock mumbled. "Everything you do . .." His hand wandered down, and he held himself as he continued watching. John used a second finger, stretching him and humming softly. When Sherlock moved comfortably with him, John lowered the toy and gently pushed it into Sherlock.

"Oh, god," Sherlock let out in a low moan. "It's different ..." He lifted a hand to his face and covered his eyes for a moment. "Do you like doing it?" he asked. 

"Doing what exactly?" John asked.

"Doing that ... with the toy thing," Sherlock said. He noticed his hips were beginning to rock a bit.

"Yeah," John said. "You're so sexy."

"Do you -- is this what you do to yourself sometimes?" Sherlock asked quietly.

John nodded. "Yes. I turn it up slowly," he said, turning it on. "And move faster."

"But if I ... finish, do we have to stop?" Sherlock asked, the tension in his body growing.

John shook his head.

"How many times do you think I can ... you know -- will I be able to do it again, when you do it to me?"

John glanced up and nodded. "I think you'll be able to get hard again." He pressed the vibrator on Sherlock's prostate.

"God," Sherlock called, pushing himself up a bit. "John ... I can't take much more." His hand sped up on his own cock as his hips rocked against all the movement.

"I want to watch you come ... is that okay?" John asked.

Sherlock didn't answer -- he couldn't believe this was happening, that he wanted another person to do this to him and with him. He glanced up at John and then suddenly he was coming, pulling on himself as he spilled over his hand.

"God, you're so sexy ... so gorgeous, Sherlock," John said, biting his lip.

Sherlock dropped back down on to the bed. "I'm not ... it's you," he mumbled, trying to catch his breath. "It's just you..."

John crawled up and kissed his mouth. "You are," he said again.

"I never was, John, I never thought of any of this until you came into my life," Sherlock said. "I never want to be without this ..."

John didn't want to think about who Sherlock would get it from later. "I want to be inside you. Can I?"

"Please ..." Sherlock said. "Please, John."

John moved the toy and rolled on a condom, pushing in to fill Sherlock again.

Sherlock reached down and looped his arms under John's, pulling him towards him. "Move close ... get closer," he mumbled.

John covered Sherlock's body, moving his hips in and out.

Sherlock's hands moved to hold John's face. He kissed his mouth hard and looked into his eyes. "I love... this," he whispered.

John nodded, rolling and thrusting into him. "I love this too," he breathed, moaning as the great coiled tighter.

"I love ... you," Sherlock said and then pressed the side of his face to John's cheek.

John's mouth fell open in surprise as he moved a bit faster. He was so close. He started stroking Sherlock, moving his head to meet Sherlock's gaze. He kissed him hard, closing his eyes tightly. Sherlock let his hips go, pushing them up to meet John. His skin was damp from sweat. He squeezed shut his eyes and moaned loudly. John buried into Sherlock's neck, biting his shoulder as he let go and came, his hips pressed tight against Sherlock's.

Sherlock grasped at John's back. "John," he repeated over and over again.

John kept trying to stroke Sherlock as he shuddered and slowly came down from his own orgasm.

"Stop," Sherlock said. "Just --" He turned them so that they were lying face to face. "Just stay close." He held John tightly.

John cuddled close like he was asked. Sherlock's words rang in his head, making his chest swell and his brain fuzzy. Sherlock loved him. For real or because of first time emotions?

"If I lived here for real, we could do that every day forever," Sherlock whispered.

John nodded.

Sherlock closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I don't know what else to say," he said. "I feel like I want to say more, but I don't know what else to say."

John kissed him softly, curling his fingers into Sherlock's hair, petting him and holding him close.

"Are we going to go to sleep now?" Sherlock asked.

"Do you want to come a second time?" John asked.

"I feel good," Sherlock said. "If I feel like it in the middle of the night, I'll wake you up," he said smiling.

John smiled. "Let me clean us off a bit before we get comfortable," he said. He a wet flannel and came to bed to start on Sherlock.

Sherlock lay back as John moved the cloth over his stomach and between his legs. "I want to pay you some rent," he said quietly.

"No way," John said, moving to clean himself off. "You're my guest, I'm not taking rent money from you," he said.

"I don't want it to be like that, like a guest," Sherlock said. "Since I've met you, you've ... taken care of me." His face went a bit red. "You'll always be older than me. You'll always know more. All I can do to take care of you is help with the rent."

"No," John said, a bit harsher than he meant to. Money was always a problem for his family, and even now the reason he was going to the army was for help with school bills to do what he wanted. He sighed and climbed back up on the bed, meeting Sherlock's gaze. "Sorry. I just ... I don't want that to be a thing between us. I like you so much and I love having here with me and I just want to enjoy it. Please ... I don't want you to pay rent. You do take care of me, Sherlock."

"But I don't do anything," Sherlock said childishly. "I just get all the benefits and it's like you get nothing."

John felt a pang of guilt for a second before bringing Sherlock close. "No, love. Sharing these things with you makes me happy. You make me happy. Please don't think that way."

Sherlock nodded into John's shoulder. "I just wish ... I don't know, I just like being around you so much," he said and then kissed his skin.

"Me too," he murmured. He thought about Sherlock's words before. "I love you, too," he said softly.

Sherlock didn't lift his head. "You don't have to say that, John," he whispered.

"But I do. And I know that'll make it harder and I'm sorry about that but I do, Sherlock."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why will it make it harder?"

"Leaving," he murmured. "It'll be harder with more feelings involved."

Sherlock nuzzled a bit closer. "Don't worry," he said. "We'll be okay." He didn't explain it to John, but he had no doubt that plans would change and they would be able to be together. "Let's sleep for a bit, okay?"

John closed his eyes and breathed in Sherlock's scent for a long time until he dozed and fell asleep. He stayed close, warm and comfortable against him.

Sherlock opened his eyes and knew it was morning. He moved his head slightly to see John lying next to him. He thought about what they'd talked about last night. He didn't really like talking about feelings much. They'd always been a bit confusing to him. But he was sure that what he felt for John was love. Which is why he was sure that things would be all right, that once he'd finally found it, the universe couldn't possibly allow him to lose it. He reached over and touched John's face. "John," he said softly. "It's morning. Do you need to get up?"

As John started to wake up, his alarm went off. He reached behind him and then had to turn around to turn it off. He stretched and turned to face Sherlock again. "Last day before the weekend," he smiled. 

"You sure you want me to just come back here after I swim?" Sherlock asked. "If you'd rather, I could just wander around or whatever."

"I don't mind. You can do whatever feels comfortable," John said.

"I'll need a key," Sherlock said hesitantly.

"I'll give you mine," John said. He got out of bed and put his swim suit on. "I leave early for my jog, but you don't have to come now. I can leave the key with you."

"All right," Sherlock said. "I won't be too long. I'll see you there, okay?"

John leaned down and kissed him. "The key is hanging by the door," he said. He smiled and grabbed his towel before leaving. His morning jog turned into a proper run. He had only just left Sherlock and yet he was eager to see him again. If he hurried he could swim with Sherlock for a little bit before he had to be on his chair. 

Sherlock lay for a few moments in John's bed, but it quickly seemed a bit odd. He went out and put the kettle on and poured himself a cup of tea. But that too felt a bit odd. He wanted everything to seem normal -- he wanted to feel like he lived here, like he lived with John, but he didn't feel that way. He finished his tea and changed into his swim trunks. He locked the door and headed to the beach to find John. John was up in his chair, glancing back every few seconds for Sherlock and wishing he would hurry up. He was smiling, happy at the thought of seeing him already. 

Sherlock saw John looking for him and lifted his hand to wave a little. When he came up to him, he said, "Hello. You look quite familiar. Have we met before?" and then felt his face flush at his silliness.

"I don't think so. I'm waiting for my boyfriend," John smiled.

Sherlock smiled back. "Are you going to get in the water with me?" he asked as he dropped his towel on the ground. He kicked off his shoes and slid John's keys inside one.

"I am," he said, following Sherlock into the water.

Sherlock dove into the water. "It's freezing," he said as he came out of the water. He moved over to John and splashed him a bit. John nodded, diving to avoid the water and tackling Sherlock under for a second.

Sherlock coughed and scrambled for a minute but then wrapped himself around John. "Pretend I'm drowning," he said. "And then you can stay with me all morning."

John smiled. "I think people are going to notice I'm not doing the mouth to mouth correctly," he said.

Sherlock glanced around. "Could you show me how to do it incorrectly?" he asked, leaning in close to John.

John smiled softly, grazing his lips on Sherlock's before kissing him properly, looping his arms around Sherlock's waist. 

Sherlock smiled into the kiss. "Yes, I don't know if that would save me if I were almost dead," he said. "But the things you did last night ..." He pinched John's waist softly.

"That would definitely go over well with spectators," John said. He pretended to wave off a crowd. "I'm a professional -- I promise this will save him." He grinned. 

"John," Sherlock said, splashing at him again. "Why do you make me ... so normal?"

John laughed. "You are normal, you goof!"

"No, I'm not, John," Sherlock said. "I'm trying, I guess ... I know that's mainly what you've seen, but ... it doesn't matter." He shoved some water at him again and then dove under to swim a bit.

John followed after him, diving under, turning on his back, and lazily moving along through the water. Sherlock swam down the beach and then turned to head back towards John's chair. When he reached it, he stood up and shook out his hair. John was crouched in the water, grinning stupidly at Sherlock. He bit his lip and laughed out loud. He couldn't help it. He wanted to grab onto Sherlock tightly and never let go. He stood and kissed Sherlock's mouth again. "I gotta go to my chair," he sighed. 

"All right," Sherlock said. "I should go as well. I don't want to get sunburnt and not be able to do anything." He followed John out and grabbed his towel and looked up at the sky. "Do you get to come home early if it rains?"

"Well, it depends. Only if it's not safe to swim. It's more about the waves."

"All right," Sherlock said. "Then I won't get my hopes up." He slipped on his shirt and shoes, sticking the keys into his pocket.

"I'll see you soon," John said, kissing him again.

Sherlock walked off and headed back to the flat. He went inside and moved quickly to the kitchen, checking the fridge and cupboards. Then he headed out to the shop and bought some food, bringing it back and putting it away in the places that seemed most logical. He made himself a cup of tea and then took it to the bedroom. He got up on the bed and drank it while he read the news online.

It was a slower day at the beach. Around noon, Mike stopped by, chatting to John about his medical course. He offered to stop by after work with some drinks just to celebrate the end of the summer and new beginnings. John tried to get out of it, but he wouldn't take no for an answer. When John was done with his shift, Mike was waiting to walk with him, assuring John that he wouldn't be staying too long. John texted Sherlock to warn him that a friend was stopping by.

Sherlock had fallen asleep on the bed. He heard his phone vibrate and read the message, but just as he was texting back, he heard John's key at the door. He felt a bit confused and anxious so he rushed into the bathroom to splash water on his face and try to figure out what to do about this so-called friend of John's. Maybe he was just teasing -- why would he bring someone else back with him?

"Sherlock?" John called out. He walked through the flat and found him in the bedroom. "Hi," he said, kissing him softly. "Sorry, he insisted and I couldn't get out of it. Just a quick drink and he'll be gone." John explained quietly and then gave him a moment to decide if he wanted to come out at all by leaving to find Mike again.

Sherlock didn't like this. He didn't like it at all actually. He thought about going home. He thought about staying in the room. But instead he got up and went out into the other room and sat down on the sofa.

John introduced Sherlock as his boyfriend, and Mike made a small surprised sound before shaking Sherlock's hand. "Nice to meet you," he said.

"Um, hello," Sherlock said, shaking his hand. "How do you know John?" he asked, trying to keep his voice calm and ...well, normal. He wasn't entirely sure he'd pulled it off.

"I've lived here all my life. We go to school together."

"Right, of course," Sherlock said, until he realised he was making it seem like he knew that when there'd be no reason he would. "And are you going into the army as well?" he asked and then thought. Did that have something to do with why John wanted Sherlock to meet Mike?

"Oh no," he said, patting his belly and laughing. "I'm more of a sit down in a classroom type. I’m in med school with John right now, but I’m just going for a general physician," he smiled.

"Right, of course," Sherlock said. Wait -- didn't he just say that? Why was he behaving so stupidly? He really felt like he wanted to disappear. "Um, I'm going to step out back, John. To have a cigarette, all right? Nice to meet you," he added, glancing over at Mike. He didn't look at John but headed out through the kitchen to the back door. John watched Sherlock go, biting his lip before looking over at Mike and smiling. Or attempting to.

"I'm intruding, aren't I?"

"No--" John cut off at the skeptical look Mike threw him. "It's just ... I'm leaving soon, and we don't have much time ..."

Mike held his hands up. "Say no more. I'll go."

"I'm sorry, Mike."

"No, really, it's okay. You tried to tell me and I didn't listen. I'll see you later, okay? I'll stop by your chair." Mike raised his hand in a wave and left.

John put his can down and went to find Sherlock.

Sherlock inhaled his cigarette deeply. He hated that guy and he knew that the only reason he hated him was because he knew John, he had some role in John's life, and in truth Sherlock didn't want anyone -- anything -- to matter to John except him. That wasn't normal. Sherlock knew it wasn't normal, knew he wasn't normal. Now John probably knew as well.

When John stepped through the back door, Sherlock glanced up. "I think I'll stay back here for a bit, okay? You go on with your friend," he said. "I'm fine."  
  
"No, he left. I let him," John said. He watched Sherlock take a drag and blow the smoke out. "Do you mind?" he asked, motioning towards the cigarette.

Sherlock looked over at John. "All right," he said, handing the cigarette to John.

John took a small drag, winced, and handed it back. "Hmm. I don't understand the fuss," he smiled. "Are you okay? What happened in there?"

"Nothing happened," Sherlock said. "I just ... don't like meeting new people." He took another drag on the cigarette. "Smoking doesn't suit you anyway," he added, trying to smile a little.

"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," John said. "You came to me so easily, to my table, I mean. I'm sorry."

"I -- it wasn't like that with you. I guess this sounds bad, but I didn't come to the table to meet you," Sherlock said. "I came to get away from them ... but then you were different. I could tell that guy wasn't different. He was the same as everyone else." He looked over. "You're not."

John flushed lightly and nodded. "Well, I'm happy you felt that way," he said.

Sherlock threw the butt down and stepped on it. Then he reached down to pick it up. "If you want to go be with him, that's fine, I understand," he said.

"I want to be with you, Sherlock."

Sherlock leaned back against the wall. He reached one hand over to hold John's. "What do you want to do?" he asked after a few minutes.

"Anything you want," John smiled. "Want to go on a date?"

"Yeah, all right," Sherlock said. He pulled John close to him. "I'm sorry," he whispered as he leaned, dropping his head onto John's shoulder.

"Don't be sorry," John murmured, holding Sherlock close.

Sherlock was sorry. But he didn't want to argue. He just wanted everything to be good between them. "Where we going to go?" he asked.

"Somewhere fancy," he smiled. "I know a good place."

"Let me pay, though, okay?" Sherlock said. "You've shown me many new things, John. Show me what it's like to take someone out on a date."  
  
"Okay," John agreed. "I'm going to take a shower first. You can as well. After me or with me or whatever," he added.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "With you?" he smiled. "Yes, please."

John smiled and led the way back inside, getting towels for both of them.

Sherlock stood a bit stupidly outside the bath. "It probably won't surprise you that I've never done this before," he said.

"Taken a shower?" John teased. He started the water and took his suit off. "It's easy."

Sherlock laughed. "This washing thing is brand new to me -- I guess I've always assumed that if the sea isn't enough, I can't be bothered." He looked over at John and said, "You're nude."

"And you're not yet," John said, stepping into the tub.

"Sorry," Sherlock said, slipping out of his clothes. He stepped into the water. "You're so tan," he said, looking at John's back.

John smiled and turned around as he let the water fall over him. "I've been in the sun a lot," he said. He tugged Sherlock close, touching his chest.

Sherlock kissed John's mouth softly, sliding his hands up John's back through the water. "Your skin's warm," he said. "You're so ... sexy."

John watched him, rubbing his sides lightly. "You too," he murmured, kissing him again.

"Are we going to…you know…in here?"

"We could," he nodded, licking his lips lightly.

"Or I could just do this," Sherlock said, slipping his hand around to hold John's cock firmly.

John sighed heavily and nodded. "I love when you touch me."

"I love doing it," Sherlock said. "You could touch me, you know, if you wanted to." He smiled down at him.

John smiled and reached between them and started stroking Sherlock's cock. "I do want to. I always want to." 

"It's kind of amazing," Sherlock said. "That we can do this to each other ... just whenever." He looked up for a moment at the water and then kissed John's mouth again. John kissed him hard, moaning softly as he stroked a bit faster.

"John," Sherlock groaned, leaning down and kissing John's neck. He bit lightly into the skin. "I might ... already." He kept a firm grip and steady movement on John's cock.

John moaned as his head fell back. "Just a bit longer," he mumbled, stroking faster, rolling his hips for more.

Sherlock kept moving his head, sucking on John's neck. His own hips started to move faster, jerking a bit, and then he moaned, "Sorry" as he came against John's stomach. He did his best to keep moving his hand. John shook his head, looking down between them to watch Sherlock let go. He gasped softly and came, his broken moans buried in the crook of Sherlock's neck.

Sherlock pulled John towards him, panting heavily. "You have some very good tricks, John Watson," he said, looking down at him and smiling.

John smiled softly. "Glad you enjoy them," he said.

"We should get out of here before the hot water runs out," Sherlock said, leaning forward to put his face under the water.

"Okay, but I have to actually wash off so let me do that really quick." He shampooed his hair and grabbed the bar to wash his body, rinsing off and offering both to Sherlock. 

Sherlock ran the soap over himself. "I showered properly when I got back," he said and then stepped out grabbing a towel to wrap around himself. "What are we doing now? I got us some food if you want to eat here," he said.

"Why didn't you say so when I said we should go on a date?" John asked. "You went shopping?" 

"I just got you a few things," Sherlock said, starting to put his clothes on. "I could try making something, I guess. We could go on a date another night." 

John almost said something about Sherlock buying groceries, feeling like it was a sneaky way to get around the whole rent issue from before, but he let it go and nodded. "Yes, let's cook something together," he said. 

Sherlock nodded and followed John to the kitchen. Except they didn't cook together -- Sherlock really didn't know how to cook at all, so he just watched John and cut up a few vegetables when he was asked to, even though John teased him for cutting them crooked. The food was quite good, which made Sherlock wished he could live with John all the time. They ate outside on the little patio facing the water where John tried to make Sherlock open up more about his brother and his family. He liked Sherlock a lot. John was happy, and he knew that was setting him up higher and higher, setting him up for a longer fall when it was all over. He thought about when Sherlock's mum had told him and tried to shake it away. It wasn't easy for John either, but he couldn't just end it now and pretend it never happened. He wanted every second they could get. 

They went to bed that night, kissing and curling close to each other and falling asleep wrapped into each other.


	9. Mycroft Interferes

It was nice waking up without an alarm, and even nicer when John turned his head and saw Sherlock sprawled on the other side of the bed, snoring softly as he slept on. He watched him for a little while before tracing little circles and stars and hearts on his skin, smiling when his nose wrinkled or his face twitched. They could go on a fancy date tonight, and he was excited about it. He wondered how they would fill their day. His hand moved down, over his side, over Sherlock's hip, always drawing.  

Sherlock opened his eyes to the light tickling. He looked over at John and smiled, but then closed his eyes. "Let's stay in bed a while longer," he mumbled. They stayed in bed another hour until finally Sherlock woke up properly. As John made them a little snack, Sherlock heard his phone make a noise. He retrieved it and saw a text from his mum. "Do you still want to come back to my house with me tomorrow?" he asked John. "My mum's just texting to remind me."

John nodded. "Yeah, I will," he said. John came to the table with eggs and toast, smiling as he started eating. "What's it for again?"

"Some couple's stopping by -- friends of our family, it's not a big deal," Sherlock said. He texted his mum back quickly. "I'm surprised she went this long without getting in touch with me. I guess I thought she'd be harassing me or something."

"It's a good thing, right? She trusts you," he said. 

"Right, no, I wasn't complaining," Sherlock said. "Thanks for breakfast."

John smiled. "We'd have starved if I waited for you," he teased. 

They finished eating and then watched some telly for the afternoon. Eventually Sherlock got up and stretched. "Are we still going somewhere fancy for our date? Should I get dressed up?" he asked.

"Yes," John smiled. "Yes, I would like to take you out."

"All right," Sherlock said. "I'll wear the best things I brought." He went into the bedroom and got dressed, fiddling a bit with his hair in the mirror before coming back out. "I'm going to go out for a smoke while you get dressed," he said. "I'll brush my teeth after," he added, smiling.

"Hmm, you should quit," John said as he walked passed to his room. He dressed in the best he had and ran a hand through his hair to make it sit a little better before coming out again, double checking the contents of his wallet before putting it into his pocket. "Ready?" he asked. 

Sherlock quickly had his cigarette and did go brush his teeth. He gave John a kiss to prove his breath was all right and then they headed out. John hailed a cab and gave the address, smiling at Sherlock. "It's just a small place, they have all sorts of different food but it's cozy," John said.

Sherlock walked in and looked around the place quickly. "It's good," he said. "If you're trying to charm me, it's working."

"Tonight's my treat," John said.

Sherlock looked over the menu. He felt bad it was so expensive so he ordered the least expensive thing so he didn't feel too guilty when he didn't eat all of it.

"Get whatever you like," John reminded him, looking over the menu himself before deciding. 

"That's what I want," Sherlock said. They ordered a bottle of wine as well. Sherlock told him a little about the people they'd meet tomorrow. "So do you have to work everyday next week?" he asked.

John nodded. "Sadly yes," he said.

"Okay," Sherlock said a bit flatly. He had hoped he'd have more time with John to convince him not to go away. He tried to shake that thought out of his head.

John smiled softly and looked around. "I'm going to use the bathroom real quick and I will be right back, okay?" He squeezed Sherlock's hand before getting up and making his way to the men's room. After using the toilet, he was standing at the sink washing his hands when someone came up beside him. John glanced up and did a double take. It was Sherlock's brother, he was sure of it. 

"John Watson," the man said slowly. 

John narrowed his eyes, waiting to see what this was about. 

"There are big plans for my brother, John. He doesn't need ... distractions."

Yes, it was definitely Sherlock's brother. "Distractions? This is more than that," John said.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Today. It's more than that today. What about when you leave for the army?" 

"Your mum has already talked to me about this--"

"Nonsense. Silly chatter about broken hearts and feelings. I can't have him distracted with that sort of nonsense when he is just about to go into uni. End it now, let him get over it and move on."

"No. That would hurt him worse."

"Sometimes you have to do the hard thing for a sibling," Mycroft said. "You must know all about that, yes? You can't just let them run amok ... being arrested for drink driving."

John flushed. "Shut up -- you don't know anything about that!"

"And you don't know anything about our family, about Sherlock, or me. End it. Tonight." Mycroft turned and left the bathroom. 

John stood there for a long time, trying to get his breathing under control. He couldn't just end things, not right now, with a week left to go. What would he tell Sherlock? But Mycroft -- how did he know about his sister's arrests? Was he threatening to tell Sherlock? Sherlock wouldn't leave John because of that, would he? John finished up and made his way back out to the table, trying to look normal. He looked around for Mycroft but didn't see him anywhere. He wondered if Sherlock had seen him at all. He looked at Sherlock now, who was smiling awkwardly. "Did the waiter come?"

"He brought the wine, but ... is something wrong? You look ... like something's wrong," Sherlock said, moving his hand over to touch John's but then bringing it back to his lap.

John shook his head. "No, I'm fine," he said. He took a big sip of wine, swallowing it hard. 

Sherlock looked closely at John's face. He could tell John was lying, but decided not to say anything. "Do you want to go to the cinema after dinner?" he asked, hoping a new topic would help them both forget whatever was wrong.

"Okay, yeah," John smiled. He wondered if Mycroft would show up there as well. How did he expect John to say no to Sherlock? How would he explain?

"We don't have to," Sherlock said. "Whatever you want."

"No, that sounds fun. Is there something out you want to see?"

"No, I don't care," Sherlock said. "Whatever you want," he said again.

John looked up as their food came. He waited until the waiter left again. "You picked it -- I don't mind, Sherlock, really."

"Fine," Sherlock said. "We'll head over and see what's playing." He picked up his fork and ate a bite of food. "Do you like yours?"

"I don’t talk to my sister because she’s an alcoholic," John said suddenly. “She’s been arrested a few times.”

Sherlock swallowed awkwardly. "Okay," he said. He scooped up another forkful of food and took another bite. "Um ... we don't have to have the wine if you don't want." 

"No I -- I just, I just wanted to tell you the whole thing," John said, trailing off.

"I --" Sherlock started but then stopped. He wasn't quite sure what was happening. "John, it's okay. I'm sorry you have to deal with your sister's problem, but it doesn't change anything for me ... I don't know what else to say."

"I just didn't want you to think I was hiding anything," John said.

"Do you think I'm hiding something?" Sherlock asked.

"No! No, but I guess I was, and it was that and I didn't want to be," John rambled.

"Okay," Sherlock said, taking a sip of his drink. "Are you hiding anything else?"  
  
John shook his head. "No. I'm sorry I brought it up like that," he said.

Sherlock looked over. "I don't know what's going on, John," he said softly. "Can't we just go back to it being nice?"

"I'm sorry. Yes, we can. It's my fault," he said. "Um, I'd like to go to the cinema. That would be fun."

"Okay, good," Sherlock said. He tried to shake off whatever was happening. They finished their meal -- Sherlock eating much more than he expected to -- and then got some coffee before they walked over to the cinema. Sherlock didn't have much interest in films at all, so he chose the one whose poster John seemed to linger over. It wasn't very interesting, but Sherlock did quite like sitting close to John, resting his hand on John's thigh. Afterwards, they slowly walked back to John's place. 

"That was fun. I hope you had fun," John said.

"I did," Sherlock said. "It's always good being with you." John let them in and Sherlock went into the kitchen to make them some tea. "Do you want to drink this outside or should we take it to bed?" he asked.

"Let's sit outside for a bit," John said. He took his mug and pulled two chairs close together.

"It's a nice night," Sherlock said, taking a sip of his tea. "I wish we could stay here forever and I didn't have to go off to uni." He looked over at John. "You're so much better than anyone else."  
  
John smiled. "That would be really nice," he said. He sipped his tea and looked out at the water. "I like it here."

Sherlock nodded. He closed his eyes for a few minutes, listening to the sea and John next to him. He felt quite peaceful actually, a feeling he couldn't really remember having before. He opened his eyes and finished up his tea.

"Ready to go in?" John asked, smiling over at him.

Sherlock nodded and stood up. He got a glass of water and took it into the bedroom before using the bathroom and changing into his pajamas.

John got ready for bed and climbed in, fingering the edge of the covers. "I was thinking ... maybe I shouldn't come tomorrow. It sounds like a family thing ..."

Sherlock inhaled a little more sharply than he meant to. "All right," he whispered. He lay there for a few moments. "I can take my stuff with me ... you don't have to say it..."

"Wha--no! I -- don't leave. I thought you could come back after. Please ... I just don't want to intrude ..." John said quickly.

Sherlock closed his eyes. "I don't know a lot about romantic things, John, but I do know about lying," he said.

John's mouth opened but nothing came out. He felt a guilty squirming like the day he tried to break it off with Sherlock before the first date. He lowered his eyes. "Your brother was in the bathroom at the restaurant. He... he knew about my sister. He used that to try to make me break up with you." The words came out soft and half mumbled.

Sherlock exhaled again. He should have known Mycroft would interfere. He could handle Mycroft, but John's reaction did worry him a little. "I invited you, my mum invited you," he said softly. "But it's up to you decide whether or not you want to come."

"I just thought it would be easier to avoid him, like trick him into believing we'd stopped seeing each other. I don't want to stop seeing you," John said.

"You'll never be able to trick my brother," Sherlock said. "I don't want to stop seeing you either."

"What will happen if I come?" John asked.

Sherlock thought for a moment. "He'll stare at you and try to upset me," he said honestly.

"Will you mind having to deal with that?"

"I will," Sherlock said, again honestly. "I'm quite good at it, letting him upset me."

John leaned in and kissed him harder than he meant to. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I keep trying to ruin things. I will come -- I do want to."

Sherlock thought for a moment. "Is that a sex joke?" he said, smiling over at him.

John laughed, the tension leaving his body easily along with it. "Maybe," he said.

Sherlock turned on his side. "Go on then," he said, laughing. "I'll watch you."

John grinned and pushed his hand under the covers, then made an exaggerated motion like he was stroking himself so the whole blanket bounced up.

"Thank you, I enjoyed that," Sherlock said, rolling over on his other side. "Good night then."

John scooted over and wrapped himself around Sherlock's back, pressing his forehead into his back.

Sherlock lifted a hand and pulled John's hand towards him. "I love everything about you," he whispered. He took a contented sigh and started to drift to sleep.

John fell asleep quickly curled with Sherlock, waking up on his own side of the bed on his back. He stretched and yawned, looking over to see if Sherlock was awake yet. When he saw Sherlock still sleeping, he reached out and poked Sherlock's cheek.

"Stop," Sherlock mumbled without opening his eyes. "That's a horrible way to start the day ... everything is ruined and I'm never getting out of this bed." He smiled before opening his eyes and looking over. "Who are you anyway and what are you doing here?" he asked.

John grinned. "I kicked that other guy out because I was jealous," he said.

"Good," Sherlock said, sliding his arm around him. "Should we stay in bed?"

"I think we should, yes." John smiled and kissed his mouth softly.

"We can't," Sherlock said. "We're going to my parents so we should get up and get my things sorted -- I might need to pick up some new clothes."

"You'll be coming back, right?" John asked.

"If you want me to," Sherlock said. "Of course, I will." He leaned over and gave John a kiss and then got out of bed and stretched. "I'll shower first -- would you put the kettle on, though?" He slid his dressing gown around him and moved to the bathroom.

John nodded and went to the kitchen to start the kettle. He was nervous about seeing Mycroft; he hoped it didn't cause any trouble for Sherlock.

Sherlock came out dressed and picked up his cup of tea. "You don't need to dress up or anything," he said. "You always look nice."

John smiled. "I'm going to shower real quick." He kissed Sherlock and went to get ready. He wrote regular jeans and one of his nicer shirts. When he came out, he kissed Sherlock again. "I'm ready."

"You look very handsome," Sherlock said. He sent a quick text to his mum and then handed John a bag, threw the other one over his shoulder, and said, "Let's go."

"What's in here?" John asked as he followed Sherlock out of the flat.

"Mainly my clothes, but I brought a few books to read while you were at work," Sherlock said. "I finished them so I'll get a few more." He glanced over. "Quit complaining -- I thought you were the big man here."

"I was only curious!" John asked, laughing softly.

"I like that you're the brawn in this relationship," Sherlock said. "But don't try to use against my brother -- it won't work. You can turn on the manly charm for my mum though." He winked at him.

John laughed harder. "I'm not going to hit on your mum for bonus points."

"I don't mean hit on her!" Sherlock said, bumping into John. "Just be charming."

John laughed again. "Yeah, all right," he said.

Sherlock knocked on the door of the house before stepping in. "We're here," he said to his mum when he saw her in the kitchen. "Me and John, I mean."

"Hello," John said, smiling at her and trying not to look around nervously.

"Hello you two," she said, glancing at Sherlock to try to read his face and then saw the bags. "Did you bring your laundry back? I'm not your housekeeper, you know."

"I'll do it," Sherlock said, even though they both knew he wouldn't. "I just needed to pick up some fresh stuff. When are the Winstons arriving?"

"In about an hour," she said. "Put all that into your room, please. You can help cut up some vegetables for me."  
  
"John said I'm bad at cutting up vegetables," Sherlock said, smiling slyly. "I should probably just watch."

John flushed lightly but couldn't help smiling. She reminded Sherlock that practice makes perfect and pointed them in the direction of his room. "Take your things upstairs," she said.

"Nice try," John grinned when they went into Sherlock's room.

"Don't you two gang up on me," Sherlock said, throwing the bags on the bed. He shut the door. "Maybe one day we can have sex in here." He raised his eyebrows.

John made a soft startled sound, looking at Sherlock. "A little warning, next time!"

"I don't mean now obviously," Sherlock said, even as he moved close and rubbed himself against John. "I mean when we're alone. It's my parents' anniversary in a couple weeks and they always go away for the night ... we could sleep here ..." He leaned in and kissed John's neck.

John opened his mouth to remind him that he'd be leaving, but he didn't.

Sherlock pulled his head back and looked at John. "Thanks for coming with me today," he said. "The Winstons are all right -- we probably won't have to talk to them much. And the food should be good."

John nodded, leaning up to kiss Sherlock's mouth as his heart rate dropped again. "I'm sorry I almost didn't."

"That doesn't matter," Sherlock said. "Maybe he's not here -- I'm surprised he hasn't pounced yet."

John smiled. "Come on. I want to watch you try to cut vegetables again."

They headed back down to the kitchen and Sherlock's mother gave them each a task. "Where is he?" Sherlock asked quietly as he began to cut.

"He's in his room," she said. "I don't think he's going to come down." She glanced at John and then moved a little closer to Sherlock. "Please ... don't start anything."  
  
"I never do," Sherlock said quietly. "He started something ... cornering John ..."  
  
She smiled at him. "Don't worry about him," she said. "Everything going okay otherwise?"

Sherlock didn't answer -- he didn't need to, obviously everything was going better than okay. He focused on cutting the vegetables. John set the plates out, and then the silverware, hoping he was doing it right. He had never had a dinner like this before, and he didn't want to mess anything up.

Sherlock's mum brought the glasses over to the table. "We're not too formal here, John," she said, smiling. "I hope you don't mind."

John smiled. "No, it's fine. It's good," he said.

"They're here!" Sherlock's dad called from the front room.

His mother glanced up and said, "Come meet them and go outside or something until it's time to eat." She wiped her hands and then led them to the front. After greeting the guests, she let Sherlock introduce John and then they made themselves scarce, hiding out in back. Sherlock lit a cigarette. "So far it's been all right, yeah?" he asked, looking over at John. 

John nodded. "Yeah," he said. "You should really quit," he said again.

"Is this how it is now, Sherlock?" Mycroft asked as he stepped out in to the garden. "He tells you what to do?"

Sherlock stood up. "Just fuck off, Mycroft," he said. "This is nothing to do with you."  
  
"You're wrong there, I'm afraid," Mycroft said. He turned to face John. "I suppose you think you're quite clever, John Watson."  
  
"Shut up," Sherlock said, standing up even though he wasn't quite sure what he was going to do. "You think you know everything, but you don't. Just stay out of my business."  
  
Mycroft looked at John and then his brother and then he went back inside. Sherlock stumped out his cigarette. "I'm sorry, John," he said quietly.

"Why is he so ... like that?" John asked.

"It's hard to say really. He's just hyperfocused and ... a prick," Sherlock said, trying to smile.

John smiled sympathetically and leaned up to kiss him softly.

Sherlock heard his mum calling so they got up and went inside. He pulled a chair out for John and then sat down next to him. Mr Winston asked about what Sherlock would be doing this autumn. He explained the plans for university, all the while staring at Mycroft. When they'd finished eating, Sherlock offered his and John's help with tidying up, mainly as an excuse to get away from everyone. They carried in the dishes and Sherlock washed while John dried. "I'll be glad when we get back to your place," he said.

"Me too. I've been studying you tonight and it's got me very riled up," John said cheekily. "You're quite handsome."

"What do you mean you've been studying me?" Sherlock asked.

"Just ... watching you," he shrugged.

"Suspicious," Sherlock muttered as he dried off his hands. "Let's make them tea and then we can take ours to my room and I'll get ready to go."

He put the kettle on and got the tray ready. He left John to make two mugs for them and carried the tray back to the table. He excused them both, and they took their own tea through to his room.

"Should I pack anything special?" he asked.

John shrugged. "Like what?"

"I don't know," Sherlock said. "A tuxedo? Crutches? Lock pick?" He laughed and threw some of his dirty clothes at John.

John swatted the clothes away. "Yeah, a lock pick for when I lock you out!"

"Cruel," Sherlock laughed. He set some clothes in his bag and picked out a few new books. His phone vibrated in his pocket.

_Quick chat before you leave. Mum_

Sherlock crinkled his face. "Hmm," he said. "I'm not sure what this means."

"Do you want me to wait here?" John asked.

"I think so," Sherlock said. He left and walked downstairs, taking a deep breath before going into his mother's room.

She was sitting on her bed, and Mycroft was standing behind her. She waved her hand towards Mycroft and said, "Just come in, Sherlock -- it's nothing serious. He just wanted to be here."  
  
Sherlock stepped in and shut the door behind him. "What's this about then?" he asked, looking at his mother. If he could just pretend Mycroft wasn't there, perhaps he'd literally disappear.

"I just wanted to make sure everything was going all right at John's. I mean, I'm sure it's quite a change ... being able to do whatever you want," she said tentatively. "You are able to do whatever you want, right?"

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"I just mean ... you have an equal say in things, yes? Just because it's his place and John's a bit older and all -- what you want still matters, right?"

Sherlock tried to read his mother's face, but he could feel Mycroft's eyes burning into him. He decided to be more grown up than he usually was. "Everything is good there," he said calmly. "I appreciate your concern, but I'm doing fine."

His mother relaxed a little. "Good, then," she said. "I just wanted to double check. Do you need anything -- money or whatever?"

"No," Sherlock said. "I'm fine."

"And you'll be back after this week?"  
  
"What? No, why would I leave ... I said things are fine," Sherlock asked. Why did it always seem like she took Mycroft's side?

"But John's leaving ... I mean, you haven't signed up as well, have you?" she said, trying to keep her voice light. Mycroft laughed a little.

"I don't know what the plans are," Sherlock said.

"But John's leaving, Sherlock," his mum repeated.

"I'll let you know when we decide what we're doing," he said. "I'm going to go now." He turned and went back to get John.

John smiled when he walked in. "Everything okay?"

"Yes," Sherlock said. "She just wanted to know if I needed any money." He grabbed his stuff and they headed down, saying goodbye to everyone before they made their way back to John's.

John sighed. "That wasn't too bad."

Sherlock nodded. Once they got back, John made them a cup of tea and then went out back. "I'm sorry, but I need a cigarette," Sherlock said, lighting one. "Can I propose something to you?"

John nodded, looking over at him. "Sure," he said.

"I was doing a little research and I'm not sure the army is right for you," Sherlock said cautiously. "I'd just like you to promise to rethink it." He took a long drag on his cigarette. "That's all."

John was so thrown off by the request that he couldn't even process it for a full minute. He simply stared at Sherlock, blinking as his brain caught up. "Sherlock ... I've already signed up. It's too late to back out now."

"Right," Sherlock said. "All I asked is that you just think about it." He stubbed out his cigarette and finished off his tea. "Should we go to bed?" he asked.

"Sherlock--" John waited until Sherlock met his gaze. "I know it's not fun to think about --I hate it too -- but there's no changing it," he said softly. "Besides, it's what I need to do. I don't want you to get your hopes up. I just want us to enjoy this week."

"Shush," Sherlock said, getting up and grabbing the mugs. "Just think about it." He headed inside.

John sighed and squeezed the bridge of his nose. This was going to lead to trouble later, he needed to keep it in the back of his head and prepare himself. He stood and locked the door, heading inside.


	10. More Interference

Sherlock poured two glasses of water and took them into the bedroom, before nipping back out to grab his bags. He stopped into the bathroom, brushed his teeth and put on his pajamas and then got into bed. John followed after him, but when he climbed into bed he kept going, getting onto Sherlock and kissing his mouth hard.

"John," Sherlock mumbled into the kiss, his hands automatically moving to John's back, pulling him closer.

John rolled his hips, kissing him harder.

"Let's do something different tonight," Sherlock said. "A different way or something ..." He used his hands on John's hips to encourage more movement.

"Different how?" John asked, moving to kiss and bite at Sherlock's neck.

"I don't know ... like standing up or on the floor or whatever -- you're the one with all the experience, you think of something," Sherlock said, grinning a bit stupidly.

"I meant, am I still doing it to you?" John asked, biting harder.

"Of course," Sherlock said. He lifted his hips off the bed to press against John.

John flipped them over. "Ride me then ... you set the pace," he said.

"God," Sherlock exhaled. "I like when you talk like that ..." He bent over and kissed him. "Will you do your fingers first? Or the toy . .."

"My fingers ... they'll be faster," John said. He reached for the drawer, taking out the lube and a condom again.

"Please," Sherlock said, moving a little to John's side.

John poured lube on his hand and reached down, pushing one finger into Sherlock and moving it steadily.

"I love that," Sherlock whispered into John's ear before dropping his mouth to suck on John's neck.

John moaned and added a second one, opening Sherlock slowly. "I love this too," he said breathlessly.

Sherlock kept kissing John, rocking his hips with the movement of John's hand. "Should I get on top of you now?" he asked.

John nodded. "Yes ... I just need the condom."

Sherlock sat himself up, stroking his cock lightly as he watched John to get ready. John rolled the condom on and tugged at Sherlock's hips.

Sherlock climbed over top of John, reaching down to move his cock. He pushed the tip inside and then slowly lowered his body down, taking him all the way in. He closed his eyes and then leaned on his arms near John's shoulders. "God," he moaned softly, opening his eyes and dropping his head to kiss John's mouth.

"Perfect ... so good ..." John moaned softly before kissing him harder.

"Should I move now?" Sherlock asked, holding John's head in his hands.

"Anything you want ... you're in charge."

Sherlock began to slowly roll his hips. "It feels different," he mumbled. "But it's good."

John nodded. "Feels fantastic ... I love looking at you," he said, running his hands over Sherlock's torso.

"Touch me," Sherlock said, pushing himself up a bit to give John a little room. His body was moving more, bouncing slowly over John.

John slid his hand down and did as Sherlock asked, stroking him as he moved over John. "You're so gorgeous," he exhaled.

"You are," Sherlock said, smiling. He closed his eyes. Everything felt so good. It didn't make sense that they couldn't have this forever. "I'm --" he started to say and then quickly leaned down and sloppily kissed John. His hips were bucking against John. "Please ... I'm so close ..."

John gripped a bit harder as he stroked. Sherlock dropped his head and pressed it to the side of John's. He let out a loud groan and came over John's belly.

"Perfect ... you're..." John moaned before the words faded top a groan. He came, pushing up into Sherlock.

Sherlock let his body fall onto John's. "Don't go," he mumbled.

John wrapped his arms around Sherlock and held him tightly. He didn't say anything, gently rubbing Sherlock's back.

Sherlock swallowed roughly and then moved over to the side of John. "That was a good idea," he said, trying to make his voice sound a little lighter.

"I'm glad you liked that," John said.

"I like everything," Sherlock said. He felt tired all of a sudden. "I need to sleep, I think ... Do you have to get up early in the morning?"

"No, I have one more day off," he said.

"Good," Sherlock said. He leaned over and kissed John's face. "You're good."

John smiled. "You're good too, Sherlock."

"Not like you, though," Sherlock mumbled. He cuddled even closer.

John kissed his temple. "But still good," he said softly.

Sherlock drifted to sleep and when he woke up again, John was still there beside him. He looked at his sleeping face. He knew this was what love was -- Mycroft was wrong, love wasn't a waste of time and energy. Sherlock was so glad he'd found it.

John was snoring softly on his back with his head turned towards Sherlock. He'd been having a nightmare, having climbed onto a bus only to look out of the window and see Sherlock in danger. When he tried to get off the bus, his legs were like lead and he was stuck, calling out. He shifted in his sleep before his eyes snapped open with a soft gasp.

"Are you all right?" Sherlock asked.

John focused on Sherlock and nodded. "Yeah, m'fine." He smiled softly. "Did you sleep okay?"

"I did," Sherlock said. "Should we stay in bed for a bit? Not to ... you know, I mean, just because we can?"

"Yes, I would like that," John nodded. He smiled wider, touching Sherlock's face and hair softly.

Sherlock snuggled in close to John. "In ten years," he said. "What will you be doing and will I be doing it with you?"

"In ten years I'll be a successful trauma surgeon, and you will be with me finding the cure for all disease," John smiled.

"I'm not sure I'm the cure-all-diseases type," Sherlock said. He closed his eyes for a moment and tried to picture them in ten years. In some ways, it was hard to imagine -- in ten years, he'd definitely be an adult, but in truth, although he'd never say it aloud, at this point he didn't have a lot of experience behaving like a grown up. "But I still want to be with you."  
  
"Then you will be," John said simply.

"And will you get up and make me tea in the morning?" Sherlock asked, fiddling with John's hair a little.

"Yeah, I will," he smiled, imagining them being domestic.

"Well. I don't mean to be distrustful or anything, but..." Sherlock made a drinking motion with his empty hand. "My throat's a little dry at the moment and I don't seem to have any help from you in that regard." He pulled a silly face.

John laughed. "You said we were staying in bed this morning!"

"Staying in bed with a cup of tea, I meant," Sherlock said. He reached over and pinched John's side. "Aren't you even going to give me a good morning kiss, you selfish person?"

"Hmm ...I don't think I will," John grinned. But then his mind rudely reminded him that they didn't have too many left, and he leaned in and kissed Sherlock a bit harder than he meant to.

Sherlock kissed him back. "I hope in ten years I'll be waking up to that," he said. "But I'll also still be wanting that cup of tea.

They lay in bed for a little while longer, talking stupidly of what life would be like in ten years. In the back of Sherlock's mind was the question about whether or not John would leave, but he was afraid to say anything else about it. They spent the rest of the day together -- John cooking up some of the food Sherlock had bought and then they went out for a walk on the beach. After that, they went to Sherlock's special spot where they read the paper together and argued about why sports were stupid (Sherlock felt confident he'd won the argument).

The next morning, John got up for work and Sherlock left with him, swimming in the morning sea and sitting with John until people started to show up. He walked back to the flat and showered and then lay down on the bed to think. When he couldn't solve his problem, he decided not to think about it anymore.

This was how they spent the next few days -- both of them thinking about what was going to happen, but neither of them talking about it. The week was flying by too quickly for John, and there were several mornings he considered not going into work at all, becoming a bit desperate to hold on to the small amount of time he had with Sherlock. It wasn't fair that after all these years they had to meet now when John was leaving. But Sherlock often talked about them being together in the future, and John very much wanted to believe it. When he wasn't with Sherlock he was day dreaming about what their life would be like, and then he would tell Sherlock about it when they lay in bed at night, cuddled together. 

On Thursday, when Sherlock got back from his swim, he picked up his phone to text his mother.

_Do you want to meet somewhere? SH_

_Is everything all right? You can come home. M_

_Everything's fine. I just wondered if you wanted to meet for coffee. SH_

_All right. I'll see you in ten minutes. M_

"Hey!"

John looked around and saw Sarah approaching the chair.

"Listen, we are having a little going away thing for you. Will you come by the restaurant? Just something small," she smiled.

"You guys don't have to do that," John said. He was selfishly thinking how this would cut into his little time with Sherlock. Even if he came along it wouldn't be the same.

"Don't be an idiot, of course we do. We're all going to miss you. Please?"

"Yeah, of course. But it's small, yeah?"

Sarah nodded. "Just the other lifeguards and the staff at the restaurant. No banners or balloons or anything like that." She grinned and walked off while he pulled out his phone to text Sherlock.

_Sorry this is short notice. I know you don't like this sort of thing but they are throwing a little going away party thing at the restaurant. Will you come with me? I understand if you don't want to, I will try and get out of it as soon as I can. They've been really nice so I have to show up. -JW_

When John's text arrived, Sherlock was on his way to see his mum. For some reason, he didn't mention that in his reply.

_When does it start? SH_

He slipped his phone into his pocket and went into the coffee shop. He bought two coffees and sat down right as his mum came in.

"Hello stranger," she said smiling at him. "You look like you've grown."

Sherlock laughed sarcastically. "It hasn't been that long," he said.

"Thanks for the coffee," she said before taking a small sip. "Now what's going on?"

"Nothing's going on," Sherlock said. "I just ..."  
  
"Son, stop," his mother interrupted. "I've met you before, don't forget. In fact, I'd say I know you quite well. You've invited me for coffee in a public place. That can only mean one thing: you need to talk about something you're uncomfortable with and you think doing it in public will keep it short and sweet, without many details. So let's not muck about -- what's going on?"

Sherlock glanced up. She was right. "I need you and Dad to figure out some way to stop John from going into the army," he said, lifting his mug to hide his face as soon as he got the words out.

His mother looked over at him. He was quite sweet really. "Oh Sherlock," she said softly. "That's not how things work."  
  
"They could work like that -- if you could be bothered…you'd do it for Mycroft."  
  
She reached over and touched his hand for just a second and then pulled hers back. "No we wouldn't, son," she said. "We couldn't. That's not how life is."

He swallowed some coffee. "It's how it should be," he mumbled.

Sherlock's phone vibrated, and he pulled it out and read John's text. He set it on the table before replying.

"Are you two arguing?" his mother asked.

"No..." Sherlock said. "He wants me to go with him to some going away party ..."

"That doesn't really sound like your thing," she said.

Sherlock shook his head.

She reached over and grabbed his hand. "Do you love John, Sherlock?" she asked quietly.

He nodded.

"Loving someone is not really your thing either," she said quietly. "But you told me a few days ago that what you felt was true. Go to the party, Sherlock. Go be with the person you love and when the times comes and he has to leave ... you'll be able to handle it." She squeezed his hand.

He picked up his phone.

_Will you come back to the flat to pick me up? SH_

"You'll be able to handle this," his mother said again to reassure him.

_Of course. We don't have to stay long, okay? Thank you. -JW_

Sherlock and his mum chatted for a few more minutes, neither of them mentioning what they'd been talking about before the text interruption. He left, making his way back to John's flat. He knew that John would want to shower before the party, so after having a cup of tea and a cigarette in the garden, Sherlock took a shower and got dressed. Afterwards, he took a book outside again, trying hard to focus on the words while he waited for John to get home.

When John got off, he texted Sarah to say he was stopping at home first and would be there shortly. Then he hurried to the flat, looking for Sherlock before calling out for him.

"Out here," Sherlock said, getting up and going inside. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah," John smiled. "I just wanted to see you, to say hi." He leaned up and kissed Sherlock. "I'm just going to shower real quick -- I appreciate you coming with me."

"It's not a problem," Sherlock said, trying to sound convincing. He went back outside and smoked another cigarette while John was showering. He was ready to go when John returned. They headed out. Sherlock reached over and grabbed John's hand. "This all right?" he asked. "Or do you want me to ... not ...?"

John laced their fingers. "I don't mind at all," he said.

"Good," Sherlock said. "I'm not sure how ... you know, to act, so just ... I'll do my best."  
  
John squeezed his hand lightly. "You will be fine. Like I said, we don't have to stay very long." When they arrived John found more people than he had expected, but like Sarah said it really was just the lifeguard staff and the staff of the restaurant. He kept holding Sherlock's hand so they would stay close, and he led them to Sarah and Mike near the food table. "This is more than I expected, thank you," he added, looking around the room.  
  
"Sherlock, nice to see you again," Mike said, shaking his hand.  
  
Sarah offered him a smile but didn't say anything else. "Well, we have to send you off properly," she said to John.  
  
Sherlock tried to make a smile towards everyone, but found it hard to say anything. He tried to stay close to John without embarrassing him.

John put some food on a plate and ate while they chatted. He moved around the room enduring the same 'good luck' and 'it was nice working with you' from everyone. Some people shared stories about saving people, some of the older ones talked about when John first started and then Sarah made jokes about how often John was in the restaurant eating. It was all good fun, but he kept his eye on Sherlock and noticed he was getting restless. "We'll go in a little bit -- just after the cake," he leaned over and whispered to him.  
  
They brought out a cake with a camouflage design that said 'Good Luck John' in big letters. When Sherlock saw it, all of a sudden he was overcome with the reality of the situation. He felt sick. He declined any cake but did down a glass of water to try to help his stomach settle. He wanted to run away -- literally, like a child -- run away and hide and pretend this horrible thing wasn't going to happen to him, but he knew he couldn't do that. He held his drink tightly and concentrated on the feel of the cool glass on his fingers.

Mike gave a small toast about John and said he couldn't wait to work with him again. John smiled over at Sherlock at this point because that was when they would be together again, as long as it took to get there. John had a piece of cake, made his rounds to thank everyone, leaving Mike and Sarah for last. Sarah hugged him tightly and made him promise to be safe. Mike shook his head and confidently said he wasn't worried. Finally John took Sherlock's hand again and led the way out into the quiet night, heading home again.

Sherlock hadn't actually said a word for almost a half hour, but he knew he couldn't stay quiet the whole night. "So did you enjoy that?" he asked quietly, barely recognising the sound of his own voice.

John looked over at him and shrugged. "Bit bittersweet," he said. "I was happy to see everyone, but the circumstances are sad. I will miss them, and this place, and you. I hope you were okay -- I tried not to keep us too long."

"It's fine," Sherlock said. "I don't want to stop you from doing the things you want to do." He said it, but it was a lie. He did want to stop John from going away. Or maybe he didn't believe John really wanted to go away. Or maybe he didn't want to believe John would rather go away than be with him.

John nodded as he unlocked the flat's door. "Well, now I can spend time with you uninterrupted. There's nothing else planned."

"You mean, besides your leaving, though, right? That's still part of your plan?" Sherlock asked as he went inside.

"I just meant uninterrupted by other people," John said steadily.

"Right, great," Sherlock said sharply. "Forty odd hours uninterrupted and then you'll go and it'll all be about other people then." He heard the words coming out of his mouth. He felt powerless to stop them because even though he knew this was a terrible thing to do, he also knew his heart was breaking.

John's eyes widened slightly as he felt like the wind was knocked out of him. "I -- don't do that," he mumbled. He was breathing quickly now as if to catch up. "I told you ... we knew it was coming."

"Yes, you knew it was coming. You knew what would happen, how I'd feel ..." Sherlock said. "I was right -- you're very clever. You knew everything from the start. I didn't." He stood there stupidly -- not able to move because he didn't know where to go.

"You did! I told you the very first day when I tried to cancel the date," John reminded him. His voice sounded odd. "I told you it would be hard ..."

Sherlock turned away. "You're right. I was just stupid ... it doesn't matter ..." he mumbled. "I don't -- I just ... " He couldn't find the words for what he wanted to say because the only thing he wanted to say was something that would make John stay. "I need a cigarette."

"Well then I was stupid too," John said. "If you think I'm not hurting--" He broke off. He turned away from Sherlock and fiddled with the items on the kitchen counter.

"You're the one leaving," Sherlock mumbled as he passed John. He stepped outside the door but didn't shut it. He lit a cigarette and looked up at the sky and then closed his eyes when he felt them start to well. He took a drag off his cigarette then slowly and deeply exhaled. He turned around and said, "There is logic to the universe, John. There's a reason we met and I can guarantee you that reason wasn't just to ... keep you entertained until you left. The universe doesn't make mistakes, John -- you're the one making the mistake."

"Stop blaming me!" John said, his voice louder and angrier than he meant it to be. "I signed up ages ago. I didn't plan for this. And even if I had planned for this, I would still have to go. It's to help me achieve my goals. They are important to me, just like you are. I don't want to feel guilty on top of everything else." He slammed down the spoon he was holding. He took a deep breath to try and calm down. "I told you, on that first day," he mumbled. Then he turned and walked out of the kitchen and into the bedroom. His eyes stung.

Sherlock stubbed his cigarette out and followed John into the bedroom. "I never said your goals weren't important to me, John. _Everything_ about you is important to me. But how am I supposed to ... " he paused. How was he supposed to go on. That's what he wanted to say, but it was probably unfair and even though he was upset, he didn't really want to make John feel bad. "Okay, John, okay. It's okay. I understand," he lied. He moved over and picked up his bag. "Your leaving was going to be hard and now I've just made it worse so perhaps…we should just end this awkwardness now."

The stinging in John's eyes turned very hot, and his vision blurred. "I wanted to leave the first day so we wouldn't get hurt and you didn't let me. And now that I've fallen for you you're leaving me?" He wiped his eyes hard. "Please just ... just don't," he begged softly.

"Don't you dare say that," Sherlock said, quietly and slowly. "If it were up to me, I would never leave you." He slung his bag over his shoulder and moved towards the door. "You're the one leaving, John. Don't you ever forget that." He moved through and headed towards the front door.

"You're the one with the packed bag," John called, storming out. "Not because you have to, but because you want to. Don't you forget that," he added angrily, going out to the patio so he wouldn't have to watch Sherlock leave.

Sherlock walked out the door and rushed down the road. He could feel tears spilling out of his eyes, and he stopped and leaned against a brick wall. None of this was fair. What did it matter if he left tonight or John left in two day? There was no difference -- Sherlock would still end up on his own. He stepped forward and wiped his eyes and tried to decide what to do. He wanted to just go home and maybe talk to his mum, but that'd be embarrassing and besides he absolutely couldn't risk seeing Mycroft. He walked down to his special place and sat down in the grass and cried.

John broke when he heard the door, sinking down onto the ground as he cried into his hands. He was angry with himself because he knew this was going to happen, he had reminded himself and mentally prepared for it. And it was still breaking him. Did he think it was going to be easier two days from now? Maybe this would be better. He could use the time to harden himself and forget. As soon as he finished the thought he shook harder. He hated this. He was angry and sad.

Sherlock lay back and looked up at the sky. He stared at the sky from this place so many times -- why hadn't he ever brought John here in the night so he could show him the constellations? Why hadn't he done so many things he'd wanted to do with John? Everything was so unfair. He rolled on his side and pulled his phone out of his pocket.

_I'm sad._

He waited a few moments.

_I know, son. Separation is hard. Make the most of the time you've got left together. Mum_

Sherlock closed his eyes and cried again. Then he stood up, grabbed his bag, and walked away.

John pushed himself up and locked the back door, slowly closing the lights and locking up the front door. He went to his room, stripped down to his pants and climbed into bed. It smelled like Sherlock, and he cursed softly as his eyes welled up again.

Sherlock lit a cigarette as he walked, trying to calm himself a bit. He threw it down in the street and walked up the path, knocking on John's door.

John's heart skipped as he lifted off the bed to look. He got up and, without bothering to put clothes on, he went to answer the door. He blinked at Sherlock. Leaving the door open, he turned and walked back to his room.

Sherlock followed John. He dropped his bag on the floor and sat down on the edge of the bed. "Can I get in with you?" he asked quietly.

John turned on his side to face Sherlock. "Okay," he said just as quietly.

Sherlock kicked off his shoes and slid under the covers and stared up at the ceiling. "I don't know how to ... be about all this," he whispered.

John studied his profile. "I don't either," he said. His plans of one last summer of work and then leaving it all behind had failed miserably.

"I love you," Sherlock said, reaching his hand over to hold John's.

John squeezed his hand. "I love you too."

Sherlock lay still for a few moments. "Can I kiss you?" he finally asked.

John wiped his face once more, worried he looked like a mess. "Yes please," he said.

Sherlock rolled onto his side and lifted his hands to hold John's face. "I'm sorry," he whispered and leaned in and softly kissed John's mouth. John nodded, kissing Sherlock again. He moved closer, looped his arm around and held him tighter. Sherlock pressed as close to John as possible, kissing his mouth and then just resting his forehead against John's.

"It was awful when you left," John said.

"I'm sorry," Sherlock said and then kissed John lightly, watching his eyes as he did. Then he deepened the kiss, pushing John back a bit and leaning over him. John brought his hand up to the back of Sherlock's head as he kissed back with equal fervour. Sherlock let one of his hands slip down John's body, sliding it underneath his back. He shifted a little more so that he was on top of John, and he pulled their bodies even closer. John easily arched up to Sherlock's, rolling his hips for contact as they kissed. His free hand looped around Sherlock's back.

Sherlock pulled up a bit. "I need to get these clothes off," he said, quickly pulling on his shirt and trousers. "Take those off," he added as he stripped.

John quickly took off his pants and started to help Sherlock with his clothes. As soon as he was naked, Sherlock scrambled to get on top of John again, pressing their hips together as they kissed.

He dropped down to suck on John's neck. He recognised the taste of John now -- it was familiar and sexy. He let his mouth drift to John's collarbone and then shifted his body slightly so he could nuzzle John's nipples. As he did, he moved his hand down to hold John's cock.

"Sherlock ..." John moaned, holding his head as he twitched with pleasure. He tugged at his curls.

Sherlock moved down, kissing across John's abdomen and then began licking John's cock, holding the base, before sliding it between his lips and sucking the tip lightly.

"Sherlock ..." John moaned again. He lifted his head to look down, biting his lip.

The sound of John's voice, the warmth of John's body -- it was all making Sherlock overwhelmed. He took more of John into his mouth and used his free hand to squeeze the soft flesh of John's thigh. After a few more moments, he looked up at John. "Can you get me the lube?" he asked softly.

John held Sherlock's gaze. "You don't have to," he said as he stretched for the lube.

"Shush," Sherlock said, taking the bottle from him and dribbling some into his hand. He held John's cock with one hand and stroked it. He looked down and watched as his other hand moved smoothly between John's legs and over his balls. He let his fingertips glide over John's hole a few times and then slowly pushed one fingertip in. "Is this okay?" he whispered without looking up.

John gasped when he felt Sherlock's fingers brushing lightly, and then pushing inside.

"Is it right?" Sherlock asked again, trying to do what John had done to him. He moved his finger slowly, pushing deeper.

"Yes," John nodded. "Yes, it's perfect." He pulled his legs back a bit, still watching.

Sherlock kept his finger moving as he leaned over and kissed John's belly. He tentatively slipped a second finger in. Sherlock moved his own hips against the bed, trying to imagine what it would feel like. "Should I ... I mean, are you ready?" he asked.

John nodded. "Slowly, okay?" he said, reaching to give Sherlock a condom.

"Okay," Sherlock said. He ripped open the condom and rolled it on himself as he'd watched John do before. He got onto his knees and then leaned forward, lining himself up, before slowly pushing into him. "God," he called out loudly.

John gasped as Sherlock pressed inside. He reached up and held his shoulders. "Good ... it's good ..."

Sherlock leaned down and kissed John. "It feels ... different," he said stupidly.

"Do you like it?" John asked softly, holding his hips to guide his movement.

Sherlock nodded as he began to roll his hips a bit. "It feels different," he said again. "Good ... it feels good." He kissed John again and then raised himself up, balancing on his hands. "Do it to yourself…"

John started stroking himself as they moved together. The fact that Sherlock was doing it, and doing it now ... he leaned up and kissed Sherlock hard.

"God, you're so . . . you're everything, John," Sherlock moaned, letting his hips move freely now. "My whole body feels ... oh god, John, I'm going to come --" He squeezed shut his eyes and thrusted hard into John, letting go and coming.

John continued to guide his hips, holding Sherlock close as he moved his own. He stroked faster, harder until he was coming between them.

Sherlock dropped down onto John. "God," he said over and over again. He tried to catch his breath and lift his head a little. "Are you okay?"

"Perfect," John said, holding Sherlock close, holding onto the feeling.

Sherlock pushed himself up and got rid of the condom. He lay back down and curled around John. He opened his mouth to say something, but wasn't sure what he wanted to say just yet. So he pressed a small kiss onto John's shoulder. He felt exhausted in his body and his brain. Too much had happened today, and he was struggling to process it all. He could feel everything inside him slowing down for sleep. "I love you," he mumbled as he closed his eyes.

"Thank you for doing that for me," John said softly. He pet Sherlock's hair as he started dozing. "I love you."

"I wanted to do everything with you," Sherlock said. "And ... there isn't much time now."

"There will be," John said. He had no way of knowing but he wanted to believe it. "Ten years from now, right?"

Sherlock didn't reply. They both knew there was nothing that could be said. "Good night," he said, already slipping into sleep.

"Night," John answered as he too fell asleep.


	11. The Last Day

A few hours later, Sherlock woke up. It was dark in the flat, and he heard John snoring softly beside him. He rolled over and looked at him. He lifted a hand to lightly stroke his face, and then he started to cry, trying to stay as quiet as he could.

John shifted and blinked slowly, processing the sound beside him. "Oh..." he murmured softly, tugging Sherlock close. "Shh," he tried to sooth, petting Sherlock's hair.

"I don't know what I'll do when you're gone," Sherlock said. "You've changed everything." He buried his face in the pillow, now just sobbing.

"You'll go to uni and make wild experiments and be smart and find us a nice place to live," John said softly, still petting his hair.

"I don't want to do any of those things ...I want to be with you," Sherlock said, trying to get control over his breath.

"I know," he murmured. "I want to be with you too." He couldn't lie and say the time would fly by. He had no idea. "We'll be together when I come back."

Sherlock tried to nod his head. He wasn't sure whether or not to believe that. He wasn't even sure if he could. "I'm sorry I woke you up," he said.

"Don't be," he said. "I don't mind."

Sherlock snuggled up against John. "Let's go back to sleep -- it's too dark to get up yet," he said drowsily.

John shifted so they could cuddle close again as they fell asleep. He woke up first a few hours later, glad that Sherlock was still close to him. As slowly add he could, John reached for his phone and took a picture of him, his face soft and relaxed. He smiled touching, lightly tracing his face.

Sherlock opened his eyes sharply and looked over. "Is everything okay?" he said.

"Yeah, I'm sorry I woke you," John said. "Will you take a picture with me?"

"What do you mean?" Sherlock asked. "You mean go somewhere?"

"No, here," John said, holding up his phone.

Sherlock ran his hand over his face. "Okay, I guess," he said. "But you must swear you will never show this to another living being." He tried to smile and then said, "Wait -- you just mean a normal photo, right? Not a pornographic one?"

John laughed. "A normal photo. And maybe one of kissing you."

"I guess," Sherlock said. He made an obnoxious smile and said "Cheese."

John snapped the photo. "Do a nice one for me," he said.

Sherlock snuggled his head against John's and smiled a little cheekily while John took another picture. "Good enough?" he asked.

John kissed him and took another. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Sherlock said. "Now I need some tea and the toilet." He pushed himself up and moved to get out of bed.

"I'll make tea," he said.

Sherlock got up and used the toilet and since he was in there anyway, he took a quick shower. He went back into the bedroom and dug his pajamas out of his bag, putting them on instead of getting dressed. Then he went out to the kitchen to find John and his tea.

"Not in bed, but still good," John said, passing Sherlock his mug.

"We could maybe take it back to bed ..." Sherlock said, raising his eyebrows. "Or we could take it outside. You choose."

"Hmm ... outside first and then bed," John smiled.

"Excellent choice," Sherlock followed him outside and sat down. "It's a nice morning," he added and then took a sip of tea. He looked up into the sky. "Look," he said. "What's the plan -- are we pretending we don't know what's happening tomorrow or what?"

John didn't look over at him, just continued sipping his tea. "I ... I have to pack a few things. And get up pretty early. Will you come with me?"

Sherlock took a deep breath. He nodded and then said, "Yes, I'll come with you."

John looked over and reached for Sherlock's hand.

Sherlock glanced over and gave a feeble smile. He took another sip of tea. "Are you going to shower before we get back into bed?" he asked.

"Do I need to?" John smiled teasingly.

"I did," Sherlock said. "But then again, I have dignity ..."

John laughed softly. "Without me?" he said. "Rude."

Sherlock finished his tea and then looked over at John. "Are we going back in or not because I may have to have a cigarette if we don't make a move soon," he said.

"I'll shower while you indulge your habits," John said, getting up and stretching.

"Actually I've changed my mind," Sherlock said, getting up. "I'm going to get back in bed and if you're not in there within five minutes, I will indulge in other habits."

"Very rude," John laughed, going into the bathroom. He took the fastest shower he could, hurrying into the bedroom with only his towel around his waist. "Did I make the time limit?"

"Barely," Sherlock said. He opened the covers and said, "Get in by me now, please."

John got into bed and moved close to Sherlock. "Thank goodness," he said.

"Would you do it to me?" Sherlock asked, kissing John's neck.

John nodded, tugging Sherlock closer.

Sherlock wrapped a leg around John's to pull them tight together. He slid an arm around behind John's body and rested his hand on his lower back. "I like your body," he said honestly. "I mean, I like touching it and being by it."

John nodded. "I like yours too ... everything about you." He dipped to kiss Sherlock's neck, biting lightly.

"Did you like what I did to you last night?" Sherlock asked, his voice a bit rough as his body began reacting to John's touch.

"Very much," John breathed, moving lower to Sherlock's chest.

"Good," Sherlock said, closing his eyes to concentrate. He let his hands roam over John's back and shoulders.

John smiled and nipped his belly as he stroked Sherlock. "Can you reach the lube?"

Sherlock reached into John's bedside table and pulled the bottle out. He handed it to John. "Everything you do is so good... " he said, sliding a hand into John's hair.

John took Sherlock into his mouth as he poured lube on his fingers and pushed one into Sherlock. He pumped slowly, but with how often they were doing this, he easily added a second one.

Sherlock let his head fall back as he felt John move into him. "This ... " he started to say but he wasn't even sure what he wanted to say. He let his hips rock gently with John's movement, tightening his grip on John's hair.

John moved up slowly, his fingers still moving as he kissed Sherlock hard. Then he moved to roll on the condom and pushed into Sherlock. Sherlock gasped as John moved into him. He wrapped his arms around him, pulling him close. "God," he moaned. "John, please ..." 

John moved his hips steadily, kissing Sherlock over and over. Sherlock pulled hard on John, rolling over so that John was on top of him. "Do it harder," he mumbled as he slid his hand between their bodies to hold himself.

John snapped his hips into Sherlock, panting and moaning with each movement. Sherlock wrapped his other hand around John's head and pulled him down for a kiss as he started to quickly stroke himself. John moaned Sherlock's name into the kiss, returning it eagerly.

Sherlock pressed his head back against the pillow and squeezed shut his eyes. "Keep going," he mumbled. "It's good ... tell me when ..." He was so close to coming but he wanted it to last as long as possible.

"Want to see you first," John murmured, his eyes moving over Sherlock's face. 

"I want to do it together," Sherlock said.

"Please," John begged softly.

Sherlock opened his eyes. "Do you really love me?" he whispered.

"So very much."

Sherlock let go and came, jerking his hips and tightening around John. John watched Sherlock's face as he let the pleasure through, biting his lip before kissing all over Sherlock's face. Then he closed his eyes and let go, coming hard.

"I love you too," Sherlock mumbled as he pulled John against him. He wanted to say something -- he wanted to beg John not to go. But he knew that wouldn't work, so he just held him. John tucked into Sherlock's neck and caught his breath, pressing softly kisses there as he did.

"Can we just stay here for a little bit and then maybe we could go out or something?" Sherlock whispered.

"Yes," John said. He pulled out and tossed the condom before cuddling close to Sherlock again, his head on Sherlock's chest.

Sherlock lay quietly for a bit, stroking his fingertips lightly over John's back. Finally, he said, "When you're away, you might do that with someone else ..."

John swallowed hard. "You might too," he murmured.

"No, I won't," Sherlock said. "I didn't before ... "

John bit his lip. He didn't know how long he would be away, or, in truth, if they would ever see each other again. He didn't want to make unrealistic promises. "Sherlock, if you meet someone new ... it's okay," he said quietly.

"Shut up, John," Sherlock said sharply and then regretted it. "Sorry ... but I ... know I won't."

John nodded and didn't say anything else about that.

"I'm sorry," Sherlock said again. He closed his eyes and tried to memorise everything about being next to John. They lay there for a little bit. Sherlock dozed off and on and then realised he needed the toilet. "John," he said softly. "Should we get up?"

"Okay," John nodded. "We should clean up a bit and I ...I have to pack," he added softly.

"Right, fine," Sherlock said. He stood up and put his clothes on. "I'm thirsty," he said. He stopped in to the bathroom and then put the kettle on. He got out two mugs and the milk while he waited. He took John's tea into the bedroom, where John had started packing. "I'm going to go have a cigarette," he said, trying not to even look at John's bag. He went out back and sat down.

John nodded, taking the tea from Sherlock and watching him go. Ten minutes later he finished packing and went out to find Sherlock. Sherlock was away in his head but he heard John approach, so he stubbed out his cigarette and took a sip of tea. "All done?" he asked without looking over.

"Yeah," he said, sitting in the chair beside him.

"Where do you want to go for dinner?" Sherlock asked, lighting another cigarette. 

"Can we make something here? I want it to be just the two of us," John said.

"All right -- we can eat whatever's left, I guess," Sherlock said.

"Is that okay?" John asked. "I don't mind cooking something new. Or going out. Whatever you want."

"We can eat here, John," Sherlock said. "Let's not have an argument over it."

"I wasn't," John said softly, leaning back in his seat.

Sherlock reached over and held John's hand.

John squeezed it softly and sipped his tea. "Do you want me you send you those photos?"

"Yes," Sherlock said quickly. "Might as well." He took a sip of tea, trying to imagine if he'd ever actually be able to look at them -- or be able to do anything but look at them.

John flushed lightly. "Okay. When I get my phone I will," he said.

"Look," Sherlock said, turning to face John. "I'm sorry -- let's try to be regular, okay?"

"I don't know how," John admitted.

"Me neither," Sherlock said. "But let's try."  
  
John nodded. "Okay," he said. 

Sherlock got up and then they went inside. He opened up the fridge and pulled the remaining food out. "There's enough here for dinner, I think," he said. "We can go out and get something for dessert after, if you want."

"Okay. Maybe some ice cream," John smiled. 

"It'll be good to have a walk," Sherlock said. "It'll be good for you."

"For me?" John asked, tilting his head curiously as he got plates and silverware.

"I just mean since you're leaving ... you can have a look around at places you want to remember ..." Sherlock said.

"Oh. I just want to remember you," he said simply.

"Don't be daft," Sherlock said. "There are other things you should remember."

"And I will. I've been here for years. You ... I need to remember you."

"Are you saying you're in danger of forgetting me -- is that why you wanted the photo?"

"I wanted the photo because I'll miss you," John said.

Sherlock looked over. "I'll miss you too," he said quietly.

John grabbed his phone and sent Sherlock the photos. "So you can remember me too."

"I don't need a picture to remember you," he said.

"I just meant ... " John trailed off. "Whatever you want. Delete it then." His jaw tightened and he bit his lip. "Sorry. I'm sorry."

"I won't delete them," Sherlock said. "I won't." He went over and stood by John. "Come here," he said, putting his arms around him. "Would it be easier to say goodbye now? I don't want to go home but I could if it'd easier..."

"No," John said more sharply than he'd intended. He softened his voice. "I want to spend the time with you. I just -- it's setting in and I just want to be as close as possible as long as possible."

"Okay," Sherlock said. "I just wish I knew something that could make all this easier to deal with."  
  
John took a deep breath. "Let's both pretend it's not happening until the morning when it has to be."

Sherlock thought about that for a moment. He didn't think he'd be able to do it, not really. He wasn't very good at pretending like that. In fact, he'd once had an argument with his brother who just seemed to completely deny certain undeniable truths. Sherlock couldn't understand how someone so smart could do that, but his brother had just stared at him smugly instead of explaining. John was leaving: that was an undeniable truth. But Sherlock would have to try because he had no other idea about how to get through the rest of their time together. "Okay," he said. "That's what we'll do."

Sherlock watched as John heated up some food, and they ate, both trying to pretend it was normal. Sherlock did the washing up while John packed some of the non-perishable food into a bag to drop off at the food bank. "Leave the milk for the morning, though," Sherlock said.

"I will. If you want anything you're welcome to it, of course," John said.

"I don't think so," Sherlock said. "Can we have a cup of tea before we go?" he asked, turning on the kettle.

"Yeah," John nodded. He pulled out the mugs and stood close to Sherlock.

Sherlock carried his tea outside. "I'm going to have a cigarette, okay?" he said, lighting up.

John nodded, following him outside. He sipped his tea quietly, thinking. "Listen, I won't be changing my phone number or anything so if you get a new number, make sure you text it to me so I know. And I can write my email down so just in case I do get a new phone, you can email me so we don't lose touch."

"All right," Sherlock said. He took a drag off his cigarette. "I suppose you'll be quite busy," he said.

"Well, I know they are pretty good about providing ways to talk with people back home, good internet spots and phone calls and things like that. I know we never officially talked about it, but we could. I mean, we could keep in touch," he said. 

"Yes, we could," Sherlock said. "I'll understand, though, I mean, if you're too busy. That's all I was saying."

John nodded. "I guess ... I was nervous to suggest it because it would mean talking about what we are or what we will be," he said. "Like ... a long distance relationship or ... or if we will just move to friends now." He swallowed hard and worried he was going to make Sherlock upset again. His stomach was twisting uncomfortably. 

"Is that what you want us to be then ... friends?" Sherlock asked, taking a sip of tea and staring into nothingness.

"No," John said honestly. "But I also don't know how long I will be away, or where I will find you again, and I don't want to trap you. I want you to live your life and be happy even ... even if it's not with me," he said. The last few words took a lot of effort to get out steadily.  

Sherlock took another long drag on his cigarette. "Obviously the circumstances will change, but what you are to me today, John, will never change," he said.

John glanced over at Sherlock and suddenly he seemed so young. Sherlock's mum's words floated up to the front of his mind, and he licked his lips softly. Sherlock had never been in a relationship before, and it broke John's heart that his first one had to be like this -- short, accelerated, and complicated. "No," he said softly. "No, that will never change."

"I hope you don't mind me saying, John," Sherlock said, finishing his tea. "But you're not very good at pretending, are you? If we were really pretending you weren't leaving, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

"I felt it was important to have it."

"Well, we had it," Sherlock said. "Let's go on a walk now." He stood up and collected up the mugs.

John nodded and stood as well. He wished it was easier to talk about these things. Was it unreasonable to imagine they could just carry on long distance until he returned? John could remain faithful, but how long until it became silly to hope for that? He found himself getting annoyed and knew it was a defensive trick, as if being angry with Sherlock would make it easier.

Sherlock grabbed the bag of food and they dropped that off first. They headed to the beach and got an ice cream and then walked near the water. "Strange that we met that day," Sherlock said. "We've come here every summer -- we could have meet years ago, but we didn't."

John nodded. "I wonder why," he said. "You're right, we could have met many times." He looked up at the sky and then out at the water. "I wonder why now."

"I'm sure there's a reason," Sherlock said. He reached over and grabbed John's hand.

"I think so too," he said. "Well see it soon."

"Is there anywhere else you want to go?" Sherlock asked.

"Not really. Let's sit on the beach for a little while."

"Okay," Sherlock said. "But I'd like to take you somewhere as well after."

"Do you want to go there first? I don't mind."

"It's up to you," Sherlock said. "It's just to my place ... I mean, the place we had the picnic or whatever that one day."

"Oh! Yes, let's go there, please."

Sherlock smiled and they headed down, leaving the noise of the crowd. Sherlock used the light on his phone to lead the way and soon they were in his secluded spot. "I don't have a blanket this time," he said. "Do you mind sitting down on the ground?"

"Not at all," he said. He plopped down on the ground and grinned at Sherlock.

Sherlock sat down next to him and then lay flat. "Lie back," he said, pulling on John's arm.

John lay down beside Sherlock, scooting a little closer so their arms could overlap.

"Look up," Sherlock said.

John turned his head so he could look at the sky. It was even better than the beach because the trees blocked out even more light. "Wow," he said, lacing his fingers with Sherlock's.

"It's the same moon everywhere," Sherlock said. "Wherever we are, we can look up at the same moon." He squeezed John's hand as he felt his eyes start to well.

John squeezed back harder and nodded. "Yes. I'm going to look up all the time, okay?"

Sherlock wiped his face with his other hand. "Well, not while you're operating heavy machinery," he said. He tipped his head to smile at John.

John looked over and wiped his face, smiling as well. "Okay, almost always."

Sherlock leaned in and kissed John's mouth. "I don't want you to go," he mumbled and then tucked his head into John's neck.

"I know," John whispered. "I don't want to leave you."

"Nothing'll ever be the same now," Sherlock said.

John nodded. "Only for a little while. When I come back it will be. It will be just like now, but better because we'll have so much time."

Sherlock didn't say anything to that. What he'd really meant was that he would never be the same, but there was no way he could really explain that to John because he wasn't even sure exactly what it meant. Still he knew it was true. He just lay there quietly, taking in John's smell and the sound of him breathing beside him.

"I love you, Sherlock." John took deep breaths, trying to memorize everything about Sherlock like this -- the sound and rate his breathing, his soft hair on John's cheek, the smell of his hair, the warmth if his body -- everything.

They lay there for a while until Sherlock said, "What time to you have to leave in the morning?"

"The coach leaves at nine in the morning," John said. 

"What time do you want to get up?" Sherlock asked, his stomach aching at how soon it'd be happening.

"Seven, I think. I want to shower and have enough time to just ... be at home a bit," he said.

"Okay," Sherlock said. "Should we head back?"

"Okay, yeah," John said, looking up at the stars one more time.

Sherlock pushed himself up and looked over at John, before standing up and brushing the grass off his trousers. He held out his hand, and they started walking home.

John laced their fingers as they walked. "Coming here was a good idea."

Sherlock nodded. He was a little afraid that if he spoke, he would cry again. He tried to take a deep breath and relax himself. He knew that if he couldn't try to be normal, he should go home right now, but he knew he didn't want to do that. He was going to have to try to be grown up about this. "Is there anything else you need to do before you go?" he made himself say in his normal voice.

John shook his head. "No, I don't think so."

"Well, I need a cup of tea, I think," Sherlock said, as John let them inside.

"Okay," he said, moving to start the kettle.

Sherlock followed him in. "Maybe we could get in bed early," he said. "Or do you want to stay up late so you can sleep on the drive?"

"We can get into bed. I'm not sleepy yet but I want to ... you know, hold you."

"That's what I was thinking," Sherlock said and smiled a little. When he finished his tea, he stretched and got ready for bed. He pulled out his pajamas and some clean clothes from his bag and stuffed the rest of his things inside.

John stripped to his pants like always. When they climbed in bed, John tucked himself against Sherlock, his head under Sherlock's chin and his arm wrapped tight around him.

"It'll be strange, sleeping alone," Sherlock said, letting his fingertips brush against John's arm. "I never slept by someone else in my whole life and now I'll miss it."

John nodded. "Yes, that is going to be awful," he agreed. He could feel Sherlock's heart beating, and he smiled softly.

"You won't be alone though," Sherlock said. "I mean, you probably won't be sleeping like this with someone, but you'll have people all around you, interested in the same things as you."

"But they won't be you."

"Maybe you'll like them more," Sherlock said. "You've only seen the carefree, summer holiday me -- it's not who I really am."

"Doesn't matter how much I like them. I love you," John said.

"I love you too," Sherlock said quietly. "I do, John." He pressed a kiss on John's head.

John nodded, lacing his fingers with Sherlock's and bringing his hand up to kiss it. "Want to make a date? For when I come back?" 

"What do you mean?" Sherlock said. "Won't you still want to be with me ... like we are now? Will we have to start over new?"  
  
"Of course not," John said. "I mean, let's just make a plan so we have something to think about."

"All right," Sherlock said. "We'll go on a date."

"Let's say ... five years from today," he said. "We can meet in Trafalgar Square."

"John," Sherlock said and then was quiet for a moment before speaking again. "Are you going to tell other people about me? That I'm your boyfriend?"

"Yes. Everyone," John smiled.

"I might not tell anyone," Sherlock said. "Mainly because no one I know would be interested, I guess, and I doubt anyone would believe me anyway."

"Show them the photos," John said softly. "I will, so they can see what a catch I have."

"Oh, John," Sherlock said. "I hope you don't change your mind." He turned his head away and lifted a hand to rub his eyes as he cried again. 

"I won't," John promised softly.

Sherlock turned back and looked at John. "I won't either," he said and dipped his head to give him a soft kiss.

John closed his eyes and sighed softly. His fingers, rubbing Sherlock's chest, slowed a bit. "M'sleepy," he murmured, already dozing.

Sherlock closed his eyes as well. This was going to be the worst night of his life.

John fell asleep. His slipped into uncomfortable dreams about Sherlock having signed up to the army as well and his family blaming John, then it changed to Sherlock on the front lines while John hurried to save him and take him home, his legs hardly moving. Then it changed to himself coming home and finding Sherlock married with kids, a whole family without him. When he woke up with the alarm, he felt drained and tired. He curled to hold Sherlock again after turning the alarm off. 


	12. Goodbye

Sherlock had slept on and off. His whole body and mind felt tired and anxious at the same time. He looked over and put a kiss on John's head. "Morning," he said. "Don't go back to sleep."

John nodded. "I know," he grumbled, sighing softly as he lay there for a bit. 

"My heart's breaking a little," Sherlock whispered. "I'm sorry ..."

"Mine too," John said. He shifted and looked at Sherlock, touching his cheek and hair lightly. 

Sherlock looked closely at John's face and then closed his eyes. He stroked John's arm and then opened his eyes. "I'll make some tea," he said, shifting a little.

John shifted to let him up. "I'm gonna take a quick shower." He grabbed his clothes and moved into the bathroom.

Sherlock got up and moved to the kitchen to make some tea. He stepped out back, still in his pajamas, and smoked a quick cigarette. He wondered if his mum knew what today was. He wondered what she would say when he came home. The kettle had boiled by the time he'd finished so he went inside and poured the tea.

John took a quick shower, running his face under the water for a long time so it wouldn't look like he had been crying. His chest felt tight and his stomach was rolling over. He dressed and came out to the kitchen.

"You look handsome," Sherlock said. "I don't know how an army man is supposed to look, but you look very ... handsome."

John smiled softly and moved to kiss him lightly. "Thanks."

"Do you want me to come to the station with you?" Sherlock asked. He wasn't sure what would be easiest, but he would do whatever John wanted.

John nodded. "I want every second with you," he admitted softly.

"Of course, I'll come," Sherlock said. "Let's sit outside for a moment -- do we have time?"

John nodded. "Yeah, we have some time."

Sherlock stepped outside and sat down. "I already had a cigarette while you were in the shower," he said. "Sorry -- I'll brush my teeth in a minute."  
  
"Okay," John said. He sipped his tea quietly, looking around and then at Sherlock. 

"Listen," Sherlock said. "I don't know what's going to happen once you leave ... but I feel like I need to tell you something." He took a sip of tea. "I have meant every word I said to you. About my feelings and all. I've only been honest."  
  
John blinked, unsure what to make of that. "Me too, Sherlock. I haven't lied about any of that."

"Good," Sherlock said. "I also wanted to say that ... I'm sure we're quite different people, I mean, our regular lives are quite different. And even though everything I said was true, I ... I suppose I'm saying, since we don't really know what will happen in the future, if you ... meet someone else and want to be with them ... please don't let the thought of me stop you. I mean, I won't know, will I, and I just want you to be happy ..." He stared out into nothing as he spoke and then took a drink of tea.

"Shut up," John said, copying Sherlock's words from when John said the same thing. "Shut up unless you're willing to agree right now that you'll do the same."

"Fine, I'll do the same," Sherlock said. He knew he was still speaking truthfully, because he knew that he wouldn't meet someone else he wanted to be with. "If I do, I will. All right?"

"Okay," John said, fully aware he was more answering Sherlock than promising anything.

"I, um, don't know what I could do but if you need anything ... you can ask," Sherlock said. He wasn't even sure quite what he was thinking of, but he felt like he just wanted to keep talking.

John reached out for his hand and smiled. "This is fine," he said. "Are you looking forward to uni?"

"Not really," Sherlock said.

"It'll be good," John said. "You're really smart."

"I am," Sherlock said. "But not as smart as you -- you have everything figured out."

John laughed a little. "I'm glad I give that impression," he said. 

"To me, you know everything," Sherlock said. "When you get back, I'll be a proper adult. I promise." He tried to smile over at him.

John smiled. "Does that mean you'll be able to decently cut a vegetable?"

"That's definitely on the list of things to learn," Sherlock said. He reached over and rested his hand on John's leg. "I'll miss you," he said quietly.

"I'll miss you too," John said softly. He covered Sherlock's hand. He took a deep breath. They had to go soon.

Sherlock noticed John's breath. "I'll go wash up and get my stuff," he said, standing up.

John stood up and followed him inside. He got his bag and his jacket.

Sherlock brushed his teeth and washed his face. He looked in the mirror and then around the room. He glanced over at the bath and saw John's bottle of shampoo. He took it and stuck it into his bag, carrying it out to meet John in the living room.

"It's close, you don't mind walking, do you?" John asked.

"No, that's fine," Sherlock said. "Should we ... kiss here, though? I don't know if you'll want to there."

"I want to everywhere," John smiled.

Sherlock stepped closer, slipping his arms around John's waist. "God," he said, feeling his eyes start to well. He pressed his chin to John's head. "I'm sorry," he said, making a little cough. "I'm sorry," he repeated before giving John's mouth a soft kiss.

John kissed him. "It's okay."

Sherlock squeezed him tight. "All right," he said, trying to sound normal. "Maybe we should head off.

John nodded and kissed him one more time. "Let's go."

Sherlock slung his bag over his shoulder and started to look around the flat but stopped. He didn't want to remember leaving the flat, he didn't want to think that this would be the last time he was here. He tried to follow John out as he'd done for the last week, like it was normal and not the end. 

John took Sherlock's hand as they walked towards the bus station. "I appreciate you. And this," he said softly.

"I can't --" Sherlock started then coughed a little. "I can't thank you enough for ... just everything."

John squeezed his hand lightly. "I hope you won't regret this. Or resent me."

"I don't want to," Sherlock said, looking forward. "Do you need food or anything to take with you?" he asked, changing the subject. "I could get you a snack..."

"Oh no. I threw some food in my bag," John said.

"Right, okay," Sherlock said. He walked on in silence because he didn't know what else to say.

"Are you hungry?"

Sherlock shook his head. He knew that he could eat later, but it was hard to imagine exactly how life would go on the minute John left.

"If you eat exactly at nine thirty, I will too and it'll be like we're having breakfast together." John squeezed his hand again.

"Okay," Sherlock said. He glanced up and saw the bus station. He stopped and turned to John. "Let's say it here ... I don't want to watch you get on and drive away. I just can't." His eyes were wet again.

John blinked rapidly and nodded. "Okay," he said. He gazed up at Sherlock. His mouth couldn't make the words.

Sherlock looked down at John. "My feelings aren't going to change," he said. "I love you."

John leaned up and kissed him. "I love you too," he murmured. "I always will." He squeezed Sherlock's arms and took one step back.

Sherlock kissed John back. He concentrated on trying to say with the kiss all the things he couldn't say with words.

It was hard to step back again. When John did, his eyes were wet. "Um ... I'll see you, okay?" he said.

"I'll see you," Sherlock said. He touched his arm, giving him a squeeze and turning to walk away.

John watched him leave. He almost grabbed him again, but he knew what was going to happen couldn't be stopped. He turned and headed to the station, bought his ticket and stood outside again. Families were scattered, seeing off other boys and girls. John swallowed hard and climbed into the coach.

Sherlock lifted a hand to his face and wiped away his tears. He didn't even know where he was headed, but he ended up at his special place, but then being there made him feel even sadder. He climbed up onto a rock and got out his phone.

_Can I come home? SH_

He set the phone on his thigh and urged it to vibrate. It did.

_Of course. Are you all right? Mum_

_No. SH_

He stood up and walked home.

John looked out at the spot Sherlock would have been standing if he had stayed. He had been right -- this was easier. And yet. The weight that had been steadily getting heavier the past couple days now settled on him so completely that he almost crumpled in his seat. He leaned on the window and debated getting his phone out, but it was too early to be falling back on those photos. If he closed his eyes he could see Sherlock very clearly in his mind. And he could almost smell Sherlock, the shampoo he used mixed with the slight hint of tobacco. When he opened his eyes and saw the empty seat in front of him, he sighed heavily.

Sherlock's mum was waiting for him in the kitchen when he let himself in through the back door.

"Do you want to talk?" she asked.

He shook his head, but she saw that he'd been crying. She moved over and just put her arms around him, as he began to cry again. She held him for a few minutes and then said, "Why don't you go lie down for a bit? I'll bring you a cup of tea."

He nodded silently and went into his room. He dumped out his bag, grabbing John's shampoo and hid it in the back of his drawer. Then he took off his clothes, put on a pair of pajamas and climbed into bed. His mother brought in a cup of tea, but didn't stay. He tried to drink it, but eventually he just couldn't bear being awake anymore. He pulled the covers up and cried himself to sleep.

As John's coach moved along the seats began to fill up. A small, nervous looking boy sat beside John but, after an introduction, he fell silent and stared straight ahead. John put his head phones in and listened to music, dozing on and off again against the window. When they arrived at the training camp, it was dark out. They filed off and up to a man with a clip board who shouted out instructions. There was no tour. He simply told them where they were sleeping and where the different areas of training would be held. Schedules would be on their bunks. 

When Sherlock woke up, the room was dark, but he could see someone standing at the door. He rubbed his eyes and sat up for a drink of his cold tea.

"Are you ill?" Mycroft's voice said.

"Get out," Sherlock told him.

"If you're not ill, you must be love sick," Mycroft said. "Which is both stupid and humiliating." He turned to walk away, but then stopped. "I know how to fix it, you know. I know how to make it go away. All you need to do is ask."  
  
"You go away," Sherlock said. He lay back down to will himself back to sleep. When he woke up again, it was morning. Life would have to go on, he knew that. He didn't feel like it could, but he knew that it would. He tried to go back to how things were -- spending most of his days reading or sitting outside with his mum, who didn't ask any questions, even though he knew she probably wanted to. He did his best to keep away from his brother. He did not go swimming again.


	13. Apart

When Sherlock's family left the seaside, he tried to focus on going to university. He worked ahead on his reading, and by the time he was moved in, he'd decided that nothing mattered but his work. However, soon, being around students again, he came home as sad as he'd been back at the beach. Seeing people laughing together, having fun, even flirting -- it all just reminded him of his loneliness. He'd never had those things before John, and now he knew what he'd been missing out on. Seeing it all just made him miss John more.

______________________________________

John's days were hard. Physical training was in the morning -- long runs, defensive combat, strength training, and obstacle courses. After lunch they had weapons training -- assembling and disassembling, target practice, cleaning and identifying different models. After dinner, specialized training. John was with the medics, learning stitching and bandaging that would withstand immediate movement, and then learning how to improvise these techniques should he find himself without his pack.

He and Sherlock did text each other, but some nights he fell into bed so tired he was asleep before he could reach for his phone. The training got harder, more intense. They did their morning workout with packed bags on their backs, and after that packed bags and guns. Their shooting practice turned into simulations. John was running through fields where rubber bullets were being shot to grab fallen soldiers and take them somewhere safe to patch them up. He'd been hit with a rubber bullet once, in the thigh. He kept working through it but knew the real thing would be a lot harder, and he hoped he wouldn't have to experience it.

When he still had energy to get his phone close, he stared at the photos of Sherlock and fell asleep smiling. He wondered if it was any easier for Sherlock. He hated to admit that it was for him. He still had pangs of missing him desperately, but his mind was being pulled a hundred different ways, and it was hard to feel sad for too long. He hoped, as much as he hated to think it, that Sherlock was so busy with interesting experiments that the same was happening to him. 

______________________________________

Sherlock was already far ahead of his classmates. It was easy for him to get lost in his studies and experiments, but he still struggled interacting with people his own age. This was not helped by the fact that he rarely slept or ate -- his low energy seemed to display itself as soon as he got to class and he found himself going all day without actually speaking to anyone. The short conversations with John, though -- Sherlock was no longer sure about those. At first, the sound of John's voice was pure good. It took him back to the memories and for the rest of the evening, he'd convince himself they'd be together again, and this was all just some weird test they'd both survive. Sometimes John would even say things that Sherlock found quite sexy, and when he went to bed that night, he'd masturbate and relive all the things they'd done to each other. At first, the conversations helped.

As the months passed, though, Sherlock began to realise how little time they'd actually had together and how much longer they'd be apart. He began to wonder if they'd ever actually see each other again. He tried to focus more on work and tried to think less and less of John.

______________________________________

At Christmas, the base was allowed to sign up for an hour with the internet so they could Skype their families. The nervous boy who had sat beside John on the bus was greeted by almost thirty people on the other side -- his whole family waving and smiling. It made John smile as well. When it was his turn, he called his mum, hoping he'd have enough time to Skype with Sherlock as well before realising he wasn't sure if Sherlock had an account. He sent a quick text, but by the time he got a response, it was too late. He hid in the bathroom and took an extra fifteen minutes to call him, grinning at the sound of Sherlock's voice on the other end. 

______________________________________

After the conversation, though, Sherlock found himself crying. He rushed to the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face, which only made him look worse. He sent a text to his mum that he was going to bed, and she came up a few moments later to check on him. He didn't even know what to say to her -- he was embarrassed to still be so upset, embarrassed that someone who was in his life for such a short time still had such an effect on him. She didn't make him talk. She just sat with him in his room, talking about Christmas dinner and gifts until he calmed down, and she let him sleep.

When he woke up, his mother had been replaced by Mycroft. They'd not really talked much since his brother had come home on Christmas Eve. His brother's success had made him ever more smug, which was hard to believe and even harder to deal with. Sherlock closed his eyes, hoping that Mycroft would think he'd gone back to sleep.

"You're not fooling me," Mycroft said, reaching over and turning on a small lamp. "I think we need to have a little talk, brother."  
  
Sherlock pushed himself up a little in the bed, but didn't say anything.

"Your course is going well, Mum says," Mycroft said. There was a pause but Sherlock didn't respond -- it was true, so what else needed to be said? "However, your summer friend still seems to be causing you some issues ..." He gave Sherlock a few seconds before continuing. "I think it might be best if you ended all that."

"It has ended, hasn't it?" Sherlock said sharply. "I've not seen him... we hardly even talk anymore." He rubbed his face hard to avoid looking at his brother.

"That's not what I mean," Mycroft said. "I mean, I think it's best if it ended _for you_. You need to make it go away permanently."

"What are you talking about ?"

"I'm talking about making good choices," Mycroft said. "You know how smart you are -- yet I could quiz you on things you once knew that you no longer know. You used to know your first babysitter's phone number, you don't know that anymore. You used to know a little boy called Will -- you met him at the beach as well, when you were both five, but you don't remember him, do you?" He waited a moment and when Sherlock said nothing, he repeated the question. "Do you?"

"No," Sherlock said. "I don't remember any little boy from the beach."

"That's fine," Mycroft said. "That's right -- your brain remembers what it needs to and forgets what it doesn't. You can help it along the way. You can delete what doesn't help." He sat forward a little on the chair. "Your summer friend doesn't help, does he, Sherlock?"

Sherlock didn't say anything. Instead he slid back down into the bed. "Go away," he mumbled.

Mycroft stood up. "Think hard about what I've said ... I was hoping you'd consider working for me. Useless distractions are ... useless and distracting. You've got gifts, Sherlock -- don't waste them on trivial things like puppy love." He left the room. Sherlock didn't want to think about any of the things that had been said. He didn't want to think.

______________________________________

For John, time moved quickly. There were rumors all over the base. Half the time John heard that they wouldn't be needed right away, and he let himself believe for a few minutes that he could see Sherlock sooner than he'd expected. But he didn't hold on to that too much because the circumstances could change in a second, and he didn't want to be crushed.

Unfortunately, it was the other half of the rumors that turned out to be true. They were told they were being sent abroad. They were allowed to use the internet again, and this time Harry had helped set up the camera so that John could see her and his mum before leaving. He tried to be quick. This time he did get to see Sherlock as well, which might not have been the best idea because the sight broke his heart, especially when he said he was going away and his communication would be even more scattered and sketchy. It was a hard good bye, not helped by the sound of people outside waiting for their turn.

John promised to write as soon as he could, kissing his fingers and touching the screen before they signed off. He had to pack, and he had to get back to his training. He was spending more time than ever in medical. When they went abroad, his troop would be relying on him. 

______________________________________

Seeing John's face gave Sherlock a lift, from which he crashed the moment they hung up. He still felt the same -- John still made him feel the same. None of it was fair. And now John was going away, which made him fear for John's safety and in a way his own. It made him realise that he was probably never going to see John again, and that thought crushed him. He skipped all his classes and hid in his room for two days until finally he picked up his phone and called his brother.  
  
"What do you need, Sherlock?" Mycroft said when he answered.

"Help," Sherlock said.

"I'll come see you this weekend," Mycroft said. "I can help you."

______________________________________

The final sign off from Skype with Sherlock had left John with a sinking feeling in his chest that he had tried to ignore. It felt like an ending. He didn't want to believe it, but then he wasn't prepared for what being away was going to be like. It was chaos. John was working from early morning and long into the night. He saw everything from small cuts and bullet holes to limbs torn and amputated. He was in his element. The stress was very high and he reveled in it, using it to propel him through the exhaustion and long hours.

On the days he wasn't in long surgeries he was dressing wounds, working to keep infections down and assisting with physical therapy. Some soldiers had injuries bad enough to send them home. John was a little jealous, but he had to admit to himself that he didn't want to leave. It was dangerous and chaotic, but it was exciting. He craved it -- the thrill of having to work quickly to save someone's life. New recruits were coming on regularly, all being trained with a man called James Sholto who, at first, was just a name to John. He accompanied a lot of the recruits when they came for medical care, following through to make sure they were okay. John saw him a lot more, spoke to him often. For the first time in months he thought about Sherlock, and he felt ashamed. He had been too busy to write or call, and now here he was with his stomach flipping every time he saw this man.

For the first time since he left he considered the promise he half made to Sherlock, but he still felt a nagging guilt and knew that developing feelings for someone here was dangerous. He still had feelings for Sherlock, he couldn't deny that. And yet he also couldn't deny the other things that were happening. James was finding reasons to come into the medical building, and John was taking small breaks more often to get outside. James was higher ranked than John, and there was more danger here than just the fear of death. If they pursued it ... it would be very tricky. But John didn’t get to decide. The choice was cruelly made for him. Something had gone terribly wrong during a training mission. John was in a whirlwind of bodies coming in, one after the other pronounced DOA. And then James came in, barely alive and badly burned. It was the first time John wavered in the face of his work. His heart broke. James kept asking them to just let him go, but that wasn't the way they worked and, after very long hours of constant work, James was stabilised enough to be flown to a proper hospital. John shut himself down after that. This was a dangerous place to let feelings get in the way -- there was no guarantee and there was already too much pain and sorrow here.

However, being reminded of those feelings seemed to have opened a door for John, and his reopened wound of missing Sherlock along with the new wound of missing James led him into a downward spiral. He worked an unhealthy amount of time, and when the boys took leave into the city and could convince John to take a break, John would go with them and have meaningless one night stands, desperate to forget the feelings crushing his heart. He often thought of Sherlock and felt his chest constrict with guilt. They'd stopped communicating at all. He missed him, but what could he say to him now? Sherlock wouldn't want to hear from him. And then he convinced himself that was kinder. Sherlock could move on.

______________________________________

It was easier for Sherlock after Mycroft had taught him his trick. Things made more sense now, and for the first time in his life, Sherlock actually admired his brother. His studies were going so well; the professors respected him and he even won a few awards. His favourite professor offered him a chance to travel with him on a project, and Sherlock felt pleased -- he was finally being properly acknowledged.

As it turned out another student would be going with them, and Sherlock found Victor surprisingly easy to talk to. He was incredibly smart -- though perhaps not quite as smart as Sherlock -- but he knew so much about chemistry and soon Sherlock felt like they were actually friends. When the project was over, they decided to get a small flat together. Sherlock was becoming more of a grown up.

One night they'd just got back from hearing a guest speaker, and they stayed up late, drinking whiskey and talking. Sherlock was struggling a little with an experiment, so he'd explained it to Victor who asked all the right questions and discovered the answer.

"That's perfect," Sherlock said, a little drunk and very impressed.

"The only reason you didn't think of it," Victor said, "was because you have too much unnecessary information in your head."  
  
"I do not," Sherlock said.

"Yes, you do," Victor said. "You have something in there you'd be better off forgetting. I can help you with that."  
  
"I do not," Sherlock repeated, this time a little defensively. His brother had already helped him. There was nothing in his head that wasn't useless. He finished his whiskey, but out of curiosity asked, "How can you help?"

Victor stood up and went to his room. He came back and set a pipe on the table. "This can help," he said.

______________________________________

Eventually, John was offered a promotion. He would be a field medic, and that would mean deploying with the boys in the battle zones and working on site. John agreed immediately. His one night stands weren't enough to feed the appetite for excitement that he craved. He had become accustomed to the way things had been going, and he needed more. John went into the field, packed with gear and supplies, working on wounds the moment they happened, right there in the sands. It was a higher level of stress that fueled John and, finally, pushed all other thoughts from his mind. He worked and he stayed alive. That was his life now. In the few seconds that his mind would wander to Sherlock or James, there was a shout, an explosion, or an attack that pulled his attention back to the present, back to the danger.

The troops talked about John like a force of nature. He was good at his work, quick, and always jumping into risky situations to make sure those around him were staying safe. He rose higher, becoming a captain. Medics were given to him, and slowly he was leading men rather than just healing them. He still served when he could, but he was reaching new levels of excitement that made him feel almost high. Storming enemy camps, leading raids to rescue kidnapped soldiers -- this is why he had chosen this route. He needed this, and he knew he couldn't have explained that to Sherlock. His mind still wandered there, wondering what it would have been like to properly be with Sherlock for longer. Nice, he knew that. Sherlock was like no one he had ever met. And then James -- that was over before it started and, perhaps insensitively, John was glad for it. It had been hard enough with Sherlock. Hard enough going through it once.

And then, in a blink of an eye, John's life changed forever. He was leading a raid, and they were surprised. The fighting -- John could tell from the start it wouldn't be good for them. They were slightly outnumbered, not only with men, but weapons as well. The men had guns, and they also had bombs planted. Everything around John was exploding. People were shouting for help. John's medical side kicked in, and he moved through the men with the medics to patch up holes and wounds. He radioed for help. He couldn't get to the men fast enough. They were screaming, things were still exploding, and then John felt a sharp pain in his shoulder.

He thought he'd been hit by shrapnel. He tried to keep going, but his vision was swimming dangerously. It was fading and coming back in waves. When he knelt to help patch up a soldiers thigh, he couldn't bring his arm up. When he looked he saw blood pouring down his arm and chest. Someone was shouting close by. The pain registered and John made a strangled sound. He shook his head to clear it and keep working, but it made him dizzier. The voice was getting louder, the shouting was closer. He looked around as if in slow motion. His eyes met the medic's and then moved to the medic's mouth. What was he saying?

"... shot! Captain Watson, you've been shot, sir!"

And then John was falling and everything was fading to black. 

______________________________________

When Sherlock opened his eyes, all he saw was white. He didn't know where he was. He tried to sit up but his arms wouldn't move. He opened and closed his eyes again, and then slowly turned his head. He felt a sharp pain in his neck. He saw his arms were strapped to the bed, an IV in his vein. He was in a hospital. That's all he knew.

A nurse came in, saw his movement and stepped out again, returning with a doctor who checked Sherlock's vitals.

"Do you know your name?"  
  
Sherlock nodded and said his name. "My neck hurts," he added.

"Do you know where you are?"

"A hospital?"

The doctor scribbled onto a piece of paper and then turned to leave. Sherlock closed his eyes. His mouth felt dry. He pushed his tongue out and felt a cut on his lip.

Then the door opened and his brother entered the room.

"You've gone too far this time, Sherlock," Mycroft said. "I can't help you anymore." He took a brochure out of his pocket and set it on Sherlock's lap. Then he turned to leave.

Sherlock couldn't move his arms to pick up the paper, but he blinked his eyes over and over until he could read the one word he was afraid to read. Rehab.

______________________________________

Pain. That was the only thing John registered. He shifted and the pain spiked. He stilled. He took deep breaths and he opened his eyes. The room was dim. He heard a rhythmic beeping that slowly got faster. He looked around the room and tried to remember what happened, where he was. When he shifted and felt the spike of pain in his shoulder again, it all came back to him.  
  
He had been shot. He looked at his shoulder now and saw the large bandage over the area. He tried to lift his arm, and he groaned loudly. No, that wouldn't work. He lifted his other hand and pressed the call light. The nurse came in, fussing over his vitals. She mentioned having to change the dressing, and despite the pain John was anxious for it. He wanted to see the damage. He asked the nurse for his chart, but she refused. He was a patient now. He would have to wait for a doctor to tell him news he didn't want to hear.  
  
When the nurse changed the bandage, John winced and looked away. It was worse than he thought. Bigger than he thought. Angry and red, the stitches thick and black against his burning skin. The bullet had gone through his shoulder. The nurse said he was lucky it hadn't killed him, but John didn't acknowledge her. This wasn't lucky. He had a bad feeling about it.  
  
The feeling was confirmed when the doctor finally came in to see him. John demanded straight answers. He was a doctor as well, and he didn't want any sugar coated nonsense. Nerve damage. John's mouth puckered angrily, and he stared at the doctor. The bullet had gone straight through, tearing the muscle and causing nerve damage as well. His hand and arm would work fine, but there would be an occasional tremor. Even with physical therapy, it would be random and unpredictable.  
  
All John saw were his dreams slipping away. He could never be a surgeon with a tremor, trauma or other wise. His chest filled with a hot, burning despair that rose like bile. He was angry. He wanted to break things and shout and curse at anyone who would hear him, anyone that he could blame for this. The doctor was still talking but John wasn't listening. He sank into his own head and tried to think back to the moment it happened. Could he have done anything differently? Could it have been stopped? Avoided? Changed? He knew it didn't matter now. It was done.  
  
John's mind was obsessively set on his rehab. He was determined to get through it quickly and tried not to let his hopes get too high. No matter how hard he worked, he couldn't repair the damage to the nerves. No matter how many exercises a day he did, he would always have the tremor. He refused his medication. The pain made him feel alive. He knew that wasn't healthy behaviour, but his anger and bitterness clung to him and thinking about it too long made him slip into sour moods and irritable behavior. The pain was distracting. He needed it.

_____________________________________

Sherlock wasn't an idiot, though he knew he'd behaved as one. He understood chemistry, including the body's chemistry. The detoxification process was horrible, but that was nothing compared to what the rehab people called 'recovery.' At first Sherlock had no interest. He stayed away from their stupid groups; in fact he did his best to stay away from anyone. Other people had been the cause of all his problems.

However, not talking was not an option. A counsellor called Thomas agreed they could meet privately. For the first few times, Sherlock barely spoke a word. He stared through the man, trying to make his mind go away even if he had no say over what was going on with his body.

That didn't work for long.

"I know what you're doing," Thomas said.

Sherlock glanced at him. "What?" he asked.

"I know what you're doing," Thomas repeated. "It's called disassociation. You didn't invent it, you know. It's a coping mechanism."

"What do you mean?" Sherlock asked.

"You've done it for a while, haven't you? You're good at it. Or you were," Thomas said. "And that's where the drugs came in."  
  
Sherlock looked at the man's bookshelves.

"You can't keep doing it," Thomas said. "You'll put your sobriety at risk."  
  
"I don't give a fuck about sobriety," Sherlock said plainly. "It got out of hand. That's all. I lost control, but now I have it back. Look at your stupid paper -- it tells you just how long I've had control again."

"Sherlock Holmes," Thomas said, smiling. "You've never had any control."

Sherlock stood up and moved towards the door.

"That's not control," Thomas said without turning his head. "Running away is a lack of control."

"Fuck off," Sherlock said, but he didn't leave.

"Take control," Thomas said. "Make yourself do something that scares you. Come back and sit down."

For some reason, Sherlock came back and sat down.

"What's making you run away?" Thomas asked.

"His name is John."

______________________________________

John's mum and Harry visited. John put up a front for them and tried to seem normal. He didn't want to worry them more, and he certainly didn't want their sympathy. He was invited to move in with his mum, but he knew he couldn't do that. He knew he hardly had any money but he would find a way. The army was giving him money, and that would have to be enough. He was glad Harry was around because he knew that made his mum happy, but she was in the middle of a messy divorce and still drinking even though that was the reason everything was falling apart for her. He had enough trouble of his own.  
  
When he was able to do the hospital's requirements to be discharged, he was given information on several therapists in the area to help him. John refused them all. He knew what he needed to do. His arm was working fine. Or as fine as he could expect it to. The pink, starburst wound still looked raw and painful. He would have that forever as well. He left the hospital and found a small flat. He hardly had money and he stayed indoors a lot, wallowing in his self pity and anger.  
  
To make matters worse, his leg started to bother him, getting worse and worse until he could hardly walk. He went back to see his doctor and, after several tests, they couldn't find anything wrong. John's anger, easily set off these days, mounted higher. How could nothing be wrong when he could barely stand? They showed John his results, pictures of scans and x-rays. There was nothing. His doctor suggested he start seeing a therapist.  
  
John scoffed at the idea and left the office. He had to use a cane, there was no getting around that. He felt broken. For the first time in his life, he was genuinely glad he was no longer in touch with Sherlock. He flushed at what Sherlock would think of him now. Broken and scarred, angry and bitter -- he wasn't fit for any amount of love Sherlock might have left for him. He became withdrawn, hiding in his small flat and getting lost every night in terrible nightmares. Harry had given him a cell phone -- a gift from Clara that she didn't want anymore -- and it had long since stopped ringing. He ignored calls. He didn't want to speak to anyone. He didn't want anyone to see him.  
  
One night, when he was up in the middle of the night from another nightmare, John found himself sitting at his desk, fingering the hand gun in his drawer. He felt numb, like he was watching himself from another part of the room. He started crying, slumping over the desk. When he woke up again, sore from being bent over the desk, he called the therapist his doctor had recommended so long ago and made his first appointment.  
  
Things got harder before they got better. She made John talk about a lot of things he would rather have left buried in the dark. When he was stressed or angry or afraid, his hand shook very slightly and he clenched his fist, a habit he picked up to try and hide the shaking. He wanted his leg to get better, and she kept infuriatingly reminding him that it wouldn't happen if he didn't let go of everything he was holding on to. Easier said than done when he was still waking every night to nightmares and terrors. Eventually he was able to go out into the world again. He wasn't working, he couldn't yet, but he would take slow walks through the park once in a while. Sometimes he would look at his gun, but it was more of a reminder of how low he had fallen and now much better he was getting now.

______________________________________

Sherlock was clean. It had taken longer than he'd expected, longer than Mycroft had expected, but he was clean. His body and his mind. Talking with Thomas had helped clear all sorts of toxins. He was ready to move on.

However, his place at university was gone. He'd stayed with his parents for a while, but he knew that was no long term solution. And once again, his brother was there to help him. Mycroft, whose power now extended well beyond the family home, offered him some work -- just small projects that required Sherlock to think and work in the ways he did best. He didn't enjoy staying at Mycroft's flat with him, but his brother's influence led to opportunities -- he'd met some people who worked at St Bart's, so he ended up with access to both the morgue and the labs. He spent most of his free time there or at the library reading. There was so much knowledge Sherlock wanted, and higher education was not the only place to learn.

One morning Mycroft woke him for a new task, something to do with the police. When Sherlock met up with Mycroft's contact, D.I. Lestrade, he felt a flicker of recognition but couldn't quite place him. The case had been explained to him, and he sat alone in a room with the evidence until he found the answer. It had taken him four hours. Lestrade was impressed and asked if he could contact Sherlock about other cases. And suddenly Sherlock had become a consulting detective.

He soon found he was spending more time working with Lestrade than with his brother, which suited him fine. He found criminals quite interesting -- he was able to understand them in ways that would have worried him if he'd taken time to think about it. However, he didn't. Instead he set up a website, hoping to drum up some business on his own. He did. Soon he had some money saved and even had an offer of a flat, though he wasn't sure he could afford it on his own. His first impulse was to ask his parents for help, but he didn't. He needed to do it independently. He knew that now. It had taken him longer than he'd expected, but he finally accepted that he was an adult and needed to sort this on his own.

______________________________________

John's chest was feeling lighter. The bitterness still rose up once in a while but it wasn't consuming him like it used to. He kept his appointments with Ella. She suggested that he start a blog and write about things that happened to him. But who wanted to read about his boring walk in the park? He didn't understand the point, and she was constantly pressing him about it. Nothing happened to him. Not anymore.  
  
One day on one of his usual walks in the park, he passed by someone sitting on the bench who called out to him. John paused and turned around. His heart had skipped a beat -- Sherlock had talked about London before and his mind was always battling quietly: did he want to run  
into Sherlock or not? But this man was very obviously not Sherlock. His heart sank a bit.  
  
"John Watson? It's me -- Mike," the man said.  
  
"Mike?"  
  
"Stamford, from Bart's?"  
  
John's mouth dropped a bit. "Mike, yes. Hi," he said, shaking Mike's hand. They exchanged quick pleasantries, and Mike offered to buy him a coffee. Annoyingly, he thought of Ella's advice about getting out again, he voice reminding him that this could go in his blog. John agreed and they sat on the bench Mike had vacated moments before.  
  
"What happened to you?" Mike asked.  
  
"I got shot," John said, not going into any details. "You?"  
  
Mike looked a bit awkward at John's casual response. "Teaching now, if you can believe it. Worked at a practice for a little while but it wasn't for me. Teaching is better."  
  
"Good, that's good." John said. He felt a spike of guilt as, for one second, he thought himself as pathetic as Mike. He clenched his hand hard. "Are you staying in London?"  
  
Mike nodded. "You too, I assume?"  
  
John shook his head. "I can't afford London."  
  
Mike's eyes widened just a bit, and he was very obviously fighting back a smile. "You should get a flatshare."  
  
John scoffed, imaging the nightmares that made him call out at night, keeping him up and pacing slowly with his cane. "Who'd want me as a flat mate?"  
  
Mike lost his control and grinned outright. "You're the second person to say that to me today."  
  
John's hand closed and opened on his thigh. It would mean interaction, being social, sharing his bitter, wounded space with another person. Annoyingly he imagined Ella's proud smile that he was even considering it. "Who was the first?"  
  
Mike laughed and stood up. "Come on. He comes to Bart's quite often, we can catch him there now."  
  
John hesitated. "A doctor?" He didn't want to live with someone that would rub in his face what he had to give up.  
  
"Oh no. Come on."  
  
Mike walked patiently beside John all the way to Bart's and down towards the morgue. As they approached he heard the sound of something or someone being beaten. When he looked through the little window, a man was beating a corpse with a riding crop.  
  
"Something about testing bruises," Mike said, pushing open the door. He was almost shaking with excitement, but John was no longer paying him any attention. His chest was swelling and he was finding it hard to breathe -- for the first time in a long time it wasn't bitterness or despair. Despite the room they were standing in, he smelled oceans and sand and a slight hint of tobacco.  
  
"Sherlock?" he breathed, his voice hardly a whisper.

Sherlock turned his head towards the voice. "John," he said. "It's you."


	14. Together Again

"Oh, that's right," Mike said. "You know each other, don't you?" He was wearing a big grin as he moved silently out the door.

Sherlock didn't notice him leave. He didn't see anything in the room except John who looked older and weary and was carrying a cane. But behind all those things was the John Watson Sherlock had known all those years ago. The John Watson he'd loved and the one he knew he still loved.

John blinked. He didn't know what to say. And then his face flushed and he clutched at the cane, annoyed with it. Embarrassed. "It's me," he said, just to break the silence.

"And you're looking for a flat?" Sherlock asked, swallowing awkwardly and looking down at the crop in his hands, which he dropped as he stepped away from the corpse.

John looked around, but Mike was gone. He nodded. "I have one but it's ..."

"I've got one, on Baker Street," Sherlock said. "But I need a flatmate. I was just telling Mike about it. Is that why you've come or was it ... to see me?"

"I didn't know it was you," John said. "I don't know if I would have come," he admitted. He swallowed hard and clenched his hand hard. The cane felt like the size of an elephant.

"It's all right if you --" Sherlock stopped. If he said 'don't feel the same,' it'd be like admitting his own feelings, and perhaps that wouldn't be fair to John. "You've changed," he said instead. "You were injured?"

John nodded. "I was. Am," he said, motioning to the cane. "I was afraid ... " He trailed off and looked at Sherlock properly. He was thin, but still as handsome as ever.

"What were you afraid of?" Sherlock asked.

John looked down again. "That you'd be ashamed of me," he said softly.

Sherlock thought about John's words and about how they reflected his own shame.

"I'm in no position to judge," he said. "I wouldn't, even if I were." He looked down and then up at John again. "Shall we at least go look at the flat?"

John nodded. "All right, yeah," he said.

Sherlock stepped forward and thought for a second about what he should do next. He held out his hand to shake John's. "It's good to see you," he said quietly.

John stared at Sherlock's hands -- his lovely, violinist hands -- before sticking his own hand out to shake. He wanted to lace their fingers, pull him close and just bury himself in Sherlock. Instead, he shook his hand and then pulled back his own slightly trembling fist.

Sherlock watched John's reactions, which saddened him a little, as his own reaction was a desire to pull John close and hold him again. Instead, he moved towards the door and said, "Let's go."

John slowly followed Sherlock out of the lab. He couldn't stop looking at him. He couldn't believe he was with Sherlock again.

They didn't say much in the taxi to Baker Street. Sherlock explained that he'd been storing a few of his things at the flat, but was still technically living with his brother, and John explained that he didn't actually have much at all. Mrs Hudson let them in and they climbed up the stairs. "It probably needs a good cleaning," Sherlock said as he opened the door and they stepped in. "But it's a good size -- two bedrooms."

John looked around at the messy flat, turning slowly on the spot to see it all. "Um, it's nice. It's a good spot," he said.

"I dumped some things in that room," Sherlock said. "So you could have the one upstairs or ... it doesn't matter to me actually." He picked up a book and then set it back down again.

John looked at the stairs and clutched his cane. "That will be fine," he said.

"So you'll stay with me?" Sherlock asked cautiously.

John looked over at Sherlock again. "Would that be okay? Is it ... odd?" He felt awkward, not knowing what they were now. Especially since they hadn't talked in so long.

"Of course, it's okay," Sherlock said, smiling softly. "And it's also odd. But that's also okay." He sat down in a chair. "We've got no food or anything, so perhaps I should go to the shop while you go get your things."

John nodded. "Okay. It won't take me long," he said. He looked around the room again and moved towards the door. 

Sherlock stood up quickly. "Do you have a new number?" he asked, pulling out his phone.

"I lost my phone, haven't had it in ages," John said. He took out the one Harry gave him and looked for his own number to read out to Sherlock.

Sherlock typed the number into his phone and then sent a text.

_It's me. SH_

John saved the number. "Got it," he said. "I'm going to go now," he said. "Should I pick anything else up?"

"I'll do okay," Sherlock said. "And if I don't, we can ... I mean, I'll be fine, thanks."

"Okay. I'll see you soon, then." John hesitated, lifted his hand in an awkward wave, and started to make his way down the stairs for the door.  
  
Sherlock waited to hear John's footsteps on the stairs and then he stood up and moved to the window, watching John walk away. He waited until he could see him no longer and then grabbed his coat and scarf and headed out to the shop. He picked up a few things he could remember John eating and some tea and milk. For some reason, he also bought a bouquet of flowers. He put things away and then put the kettle on. He sent John a quick text.

_I'm home. SH_

John got into a cab and went back to his flat. He was slow packing his things but as there weren't very many, he finished quickly enough. He didn't know if this was right or not. He had elected not to reach out to Sherlock and he didn't know how to explain that. Had Sherlock wondered? Or maybe he hadn't cared. So much time had passed. How were they supposed to be now? On the curb he checked his phone.

_I'll be there soon. -JW_

Sherlock pulled two mugs out of the cupboard and washed them before setting some biscuits out on a plate. He carried everything over to the sitting room and then rushed down the kerb to help John carry things in.

When the cab pulled up John draped his bag over his shoulder and tried to get out with a box in one hand and his cane in the other.

"Let me take that," Sherlock said, grabbing the box. He carried it up and set it on the sofa. "I made tea," he said.

"Thanks," he said as he followed Sherlock up. John looked at the table with the mugs, biscuits, and flowers. "I -- thanks," he said again softly, moving to sit down

"Like old times," Sherlock said. "I mean ... sorry." He picked up a mug and took a quick sip of tea.

John shook his head quickly and took a long sip. "It's fine. I mean, you're right," he said. He wanted to know everything Sherlock had done, everything he'd been up to, but he felt like it wasn't his place to ask. Not after deciding not to contact him. But they would have to talk eventually, he knew that. He cleared his throat softly. "I'm going to take my stuff upstairs -- don't get up, I can do it," he said quickly. He grabbed his bag and box, slowly making his way up the stairs to the bedroom. He set everything on the bed and started to slowly unpack.

Sherlock watched him move upstairs and then followed him. "It's not your leg, though," he said, standing by the door. "Where you were injured, I mean. Your shoulder?"

John glanced over at Sherlock and nodded. "They can't explain it," he said.

"Interesting," Sherlock said. He watched him for a few more moments. John moved slowly, cautiously, and it made Sherlock's heart ache a little. "Do you have a job yet?" he asked.

John shook his head. "I can't ... I can't be a surgeon anymore. I know there's other options, but I just couldn't face it. Not yet." It was odd how easy it was to confide in Sherlock. Despite the time apart, the words came out easily.

"Interesting," Sherlock said again. "I've got a job," he added, a little too much like a child who'd done well at school.

"Yeah?" John asked, glancing over at him. He waited for more as he hung his clothes up.

"I'm a consulting detective," Sherlock said. "Perhaps you could help me on cases..."

"Like, with the police?" John asked. "Would they let me?"

"Sometimes with the police," Sherlock said. "If they knew I trusted you, they would -- they trust me, mostly, I think."

"I'd slow you down," he said, focusing on his clothes now instead of looking at Sherlock.

"I don't know that you would," Sherlock said, moving over towards John. "Put those things down for a moment and let me test you."

John hung the jumpers and turned to face Sherlock properly. 

"What's my name?" Sherlock asked.

"Sherlock Holmes," John said, gazing up at him curiously.

"Excellent identification skills," Sherlock said. "When you first met my brother, do you remember how you described him?"

John smirked. "Constipated," he said.

"See, you're quite good at reading people and you have an excellent memory," Sherlock said. "He still looks like that, only worse," he added. "Let's test your reaction skills now. Are those still in good shape?"

"Maybe. Recently I haven't had to react to anything worse than a cab passing me by," he said.

"If someone, let's say a man, in fact let's say me, came up to you and held your arms like this," Sherlock stepped forward and gripped John's forearms as he did that first night outside the beach house. "What do you think he might do next?"

John flushed lightly. Suddenly he was back to that summer, standing outside Sherlock's beach house, trying to pretend things weren't getting too serious and debating letting the kiss happen. "I know what you've done before..." he said quietly.

"And your reaction? Would you turn your head away?" Sherlock asked, gazing down at John.

John shook his head. "No, I wouldn't," he murmured. He brought one hand to lay flat on Sherlock's chest and rest the other on the side of his neck.

"I've never stopped missing you," Sherlock said, leaning down and putting a soft kiss on John's mouth. He smiled and straightened up, before moving over to sit on the bed. "So your faculties are all in working order, that is good to know," he said.

John leaned up for more, but Sherlock was already moving away and sitting down. "I'm still slow," he said.

"Slow is fine," Sherlock said. And he realised he really meant it -- not with cases, but between them. That summer everything was fast, but they were adults now, and it was important to get it right this time. He stood up from the bed and headed towards the door. "Anyway, there's food in if you want to make something. I was working on something at the lab and should go write up my findings."

John nodded. How long had it been since he'd eaten a proper meal? "I'll just finish up here and I'll come down and cook something."

Sherlock pulled his laptop from a box and set it on the desk. He typed up some of his notes, but obviously he couldn't really concentrate. When John came downstairs, Sherlock stood up awkwardly from the desk. "Um, if you'd rather, we could go out ... on a date instead," he said. 

John paused halfway into the kitchen. "A date?" He licked his lips. "Okay," he nodded.

"There's an Italian place ... do you still like Italian?" Sherlock asked.

John nodded. "I do, yeah."

"And do you still like ... me?" Sherlock asked. "I mean, can this really be a date, like before, except a bit more proper and mature?"

John smiled wide, easily and without really thinking about it. He couldn't remember the last time he had done so. "Proper and mature? I mean, I'll try my best," he teased. 

"I mean, me, John," Sherlock said nervously. "I want to show you that I've changed -- I can be better now. I can look after you and you won't have to leave ... if you want to stay, I mean."

"Sherlock --" John's smiled faded and he sank into himself a bit. "I didn't leave because of you. You have to know that."

"I know, John," Sherlock said. "But now I want to be the reason you'll stay."


	15. Honesty

When they arrived at the restaurant, Sherlock introduced John to Angelo, who brought a candle to the table. "Get whatever you want," he said. "I'm sure it's all good."

"You guys seemed friendly, have you eaten here before?" John asked.

"I come here all the time," Sherlock said. "But I don't eat much, I admit."

John smiled. "I see. I'll have the lasagna then."

"You look like you could do with some good meals actually, if you don't mind me saying," Sherlock said.

John nodded. "I haven't had much of an appetite," he shrugged.

"I find that a bit difficult to imagine," Sherlock said. "I bet there's a lot about your life I'd find difficult to imagine."

John looked at Sherlock, studied him for a long moment. "I bet I can say the same for you."

Sherlock's eyes flicked down to his hands in front of him. "And do you think you'll be okay with that?"

"Will you?"

Sherlock thought for a moment. "I'll try," he said.

"Me too," John said.

Sherlock looked up just as Angelo brought their food over. He took a sip of wine and then took a bite of his food. "How are your mum and sister?" he asked.

"My mum is good. Harry is in the middle of a divorce, big disaster." John took a bite and hummed happily. "How's your family?"  
  
"The same," Sherlock thought and remembered that he should probably let Mycroft know he wouldn't be coming back tonight. He made a mental note to text him later.

After dinner, Sherlock suggested they walk back. "Do you want to get ice cream?" he asked.

"Okay, yeah," John smiled. He lifted the bag with his leftovers. "I saved room."

Sherlock smiled and then turned to John. "I literally have no idea where you can buy ice cream around here," he admitted.

John laughed and shook his head. "That's okay. I'm sure we'll find something open."

They wandered for a bit and finally stopped into a news agents where Sherlock bought John a Magnum. They headed back and Sherlock unlocked the door for them. "We'll get you a key tomorrow," he said. "Cup of tea?"

"No, I'm okay. About the tea, I mean," he added. He moved over to the chair facing the window and sat down.

Sherlock made himself a cup and then took it into the sitting room. "A strange day, eh?" he said as he sat down.

"I still can't believe it," John said.

"Will you struggle to sleep in a new place?"

John laughed bitterly. "I struggle as it so that won't matter," he said.

"What?" Sherlock asked. "What's going on?"

"I ... have nightmares," John admitted. "I should have mentioned it -- it doesn't make me an ideal flatmate."  
  
"I don't care about that," Sherlock said, sitting forward a bit in his chair. "Maybe ... would it help if we, you know, slept in the same room?"  
  
"I ...I don't know. I've never tried that," John said. "But if it doesn't work, you won't get much sleep." He was nervous, embarrassed of what Sherlock might hear or see.

Sherlock thought for a moment. Why had he offered that anyway? Was it really to help John or was it just because he wanted to be around John all the time, even while he was asleep? Which was the most mature reason? Sherlock had a feeling that both reasons were true, even though the second one was selfish and probably childish. "I don't sleep much anyway," he finally said. "Shall we see how we feel when it's time for bed?"

John studied him for a moment before nodding. "Okay."

Sherlock stood up. "I'm going to go make the bed up in my room," he said. He moved in and pulled some stuff from a bag he'd left. He took out his phone to check the time and realised he should contact Mycroft. He thought carefully about the best way to handle it. He was pretty sure he knew what he should do, but so much had happened today that he wasn't sure he had the energy to do the right thing. So instead he sent a text.

_I'm working at the lab and won't be back tonight. All's well. SH_

He sat down on the newly made bed and waited.

_Fine. MH_

Sherlock felt a bit of relief before remembering that he was an adult now -- he shouldn't have to lie to his brother and he shouldn't feel happy his brother had believed the lie. However, the thought of facing it all felt so big. He'd been building himself up to be able to make the break from Mycroft, but now John was involved ... it would change things. He pushed himself up off the bed. He could deal with that tomorrow. Tonight could just be about John being back.

John looked around the sitting room while Sherlock was gone. He saw a lot of odd little things like the skull on the mantle and a few empty beakers scattered near the fire place. He wondered what Sherlock had been up to all these years. John had loved Sherlock, still loved him, and yet he couldn't help admitting he was still a stranger. He always had been. How much did two weeks tell you about a person?

Sherlock came out of his room. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

"A little overwhelmed," John admitted. He smiled softly. "I thought I'd never see you again."

Sherlock looked over. "I wondered about that myself," he said. "I wanted to think we would but then ... so much time passed, so much happened . .. . "

John looked away from Sherlock, guilt curling in his stomach. "I always thought about you."

Sherlock moved over to look out the window. "I always thought of you as well, John," he said quietly.

John looked at Sherlock again. "Did you ever meet anyone else?"

"What do you mean?" Sherlock asked. "I've met many people ..."

"Romantically," John said, not looking at Sherlock again.

Sherlock turned back towards the window. "No ... there's been nothing like that," he said quietly. He didn't ask John the same question. He was pretty sure he knew the answer, but he didn't want to hear it aloud. He stood silent for a few more minutes, before he turned around and walked over and sat down. "Tomorrow," he said. "We should get a few things sorted. I need to get the rest of my things and we should sort things with Mrs Hudson, the landlady."

John glanced up. He wished Sherlock would give him a proper answer because his imagination was worse. Still, he didn't press it. "I think I'll go up to bed," he said, pushing himself up.

Sherlock looked up. "Do you want to go alone?" he asked. "I mean, I could come sit with you if you want. I don't mind."

John had forgotten about Sherlock's offer. He felt a bit awkward -- he wasn't sure what it would mean to lie together again like they used to. They were so different now. Everything was different now. "Um, it's okay, I think. Let's just see how tonight goes ..."

"All right," Sherlock said. "Just -- ," he moved a little closer. "Look at me, John. I know this is awkward, but I'm just offering to help ...I've waited so long to see you, I don't want to think of you finally in the same place as me but ... suffering. If you need something, just come get me or send me a text or ... something. I just want to ..." His voice trailed off. What was it he wanted? He didn't know if he could actually answer.

John almost told Sherlock that he didn't know how to do anything else anymore, but it seemed like too much. Nightmares were one thing, but the things that made him finally seek out help were quite another. He was a completely different person than the one Sherlock knew on the beach. The one Sherlock loved. "I'll let you know, okay?" he promised. He touched Sherlock's arm, squeezing it lightly before turning for the stairs.

"Okay," Sherlock said softly. The touch had felt nice -- it reminded him of all the good feelings John had once given him. Was it all right to let those memories be good one again? "I think I'll go to bed as well." He looked around for a moment. "It's odd -- this feels like the first night of a very different life." He moved towards his room and then disappeared inside it.

John slowly made his way up the stairs. In his room he stripped down and got into bed. It was comfortable, more than his old bed. He thought about Sherlock downstairs and the last time they had slept together, curled close and tight. He tugged the blankets up more.

When he first saw Sherlock he thought, for a wild moment, that they would just pick up where they left off, but that was impossible. They could start over, but it would require a lot of talking. A lot of explaining. He drifted off to sleep, and found himself in the war zone again.

Sherlock got into bed, trying to calm his head. It was hard to do -- everything today was different and he still sometimes struggled with change. He'd been expecting to soon be living away from Mycroft, but now John was here and everything ... was different. He tried to concentrate on his breathing, remembering some of the things Thomas had taught him.

John didn't know how long he'd slept, but he woke with a violent start, panting, his eyes wet. He wiped them hard, pressing his hands against them for a moment. He pushed himself up and, limping worse from either the dream or all the walking earlier, he put pajamas on and made his way downstairs. This was the first time he was going to ask for help since Ella. He knocked lightly on Sherlock's door.

Sherlock's eyes opened but he didn't otherwise move. It took him a second to remember where he was. And who would be knocking on his door. "Come in," he said, pushing himself up in bed. "Are you all right?"

John pushed open the door. "Can I ... I'd like to come sit with you for a bit."

"Of course," Sherlock said. He pulled the blanket back a bit. "Just to sleep ..." he added, though he wasn't sure why.

John glanced up awkwardly. "Of course," he said, climbing into Sherlock's bed. He kept to his own side for the moment.

"Did you have a nightmare?" Sherlock asked.

"Yeah."

"It's strange being in a new place," Sherlock whispered. "I've been lying here listening to sounds I don't recognise." He turned a little, almost facing John. "It won't be long until the sounds become unnoticeable."

John nodded. "It's different," he agreed. "But it will become familiar."

"We used to be familiar and now we're different," Sherlock said. "Do you think we'll become familiar again?"

"Yes I do," John said. He wanted to believe it.

"I hope so," Sherlock said. He reached over and held John's hand. "Is this okay?"

John nodded. He laced their fingers together. He took a slow deep breath. Someone had to start. "When I was shot, it left me with a tremor. I can't be a surgeon. Everything I wanted to do, to be, is gone." He whispered the words and tried to keep his voice steady.

"I'm sorry," Sherlock said. He swallowed. "What else will you do?"

John laughed bitterly again and shook his head. "I don't know. An office job? God ..." he sighed.

"John Watson," Sherlock said lightly. "I find it hard there are no other options." He opened his eyes and looked over at him. "This is unusual ... you being the childish one."

"There's nothing else. I can't operate. I never wanted anything else."

"I know," Sherlock said softly. "But ... I thought it was danger and excitement you actually wanted -- surely there are other places you can find that."

"Well, yeah, but not doing what I loved," John said.

"Perhaps you'll find something else you love doing," Sherlock said. "I'm sorry ... I don't know how to make you feel better."

"Don't worry about it ... I'll be okay."

"I probably need to tell you something..." Sherlock said. "I didn't finish university."

"What happened?" John asked. He noticed his thumb was rubbing Sherlock's hand lightly.

"Just ... I got off track, I guess you could say," Sherlock said. He knew he'd have to tell John eventually, but he couldn't risk putting John off immediately. "It's all right -- I'm doing all right."

John sensed that there was more to the story, but he didn't push the issue. "Well, that's what's important."

"I just ... don't want you to think I'm a failure," Sherlock said.

"I don't, Sherlock. Of course I don't," John said.

"Just because I made mistakes in the past ... I'm better now," Sherlock said. "You can trust me."

"You're scaring me a little bit," John admitted.

"I'm the one who should be afraid," Sherlock said, smiling in the dark as he squeezed John's hand.

"Why?" John asked, looking over at him.

"Because you're the dangerous one," Sherlock said. He couldn't help thinking about when they knew each other before and all the things John had introduced him to.

"I -- what do you mean?" John asked, wondering if Sherlock had heard him calling out before.

"Sorry ..." Sherlock said. "I was trying to make a joke about sex stuff ... sorry." He moved back flat on the bed again, letting go of John's hand.

John groped for his hand again. "Don't move away -- please." He asked as he found it. "I didn't understand. I'm sorry."

Sherlock lifted his other hand to rub his face. "I don't know how to be, I guess," he said. "So many times, I've thought of us meeting again, but I ... just don't know how to be."

"I think ... we need to just talk, you know? Everything."

"I got involved in drugs," Sherlock confessed. "I'm sorry," he added, turning his head away.

John gripped his hand tightly. This must have been after they lost contact. He wondered how bad it had got, how close he came to losing Sherlock forever. Now that he actually found him again, the thought was unimaginable. He swallowed hard. "I almost killed myself," he whispered.

Sherlock turned to face John. He didn't move closer, but dipped his head to press it against John's shoulders. "Don't --" he started, but then he was crying and couldn't make any more words.

John turned and wrapped his free arm around Sherlock, silently crying into Sherlock's hair. "I was so angry for so long ... I'm sorry, I won't ...I got help and ..."

"Why didn't you try to find me?" Sherlock asked, his face still pressed against John's t-shirt.

"When they put me on combat there was no time, no way," John said. "Then ... I was shot. I was out for a long time, and I was bitter and ashamed. I was broken, nothing like the person you knew. I couldn't ... I'm so sorry," he said, sucking in a shaky breath.

"It feels like you're still the person I knew," Sherlock said. "Am I wrong?"

"I don't know...you don't know this person, Sherlock. I'm still ... I don't know who I am, I haven't let it all go ..."

"Whoever you are ... I still want you to be around me," Sherlock said. He lifted a hand and touched John's face before resting it on his chest.

"I want to be around you. I don't ever want to miss you again." John bit his lip. "I wanted to find you but I was scared ..."

"Don't be," Sherlock said. "I will look after you now."

"I'll look after you, too."

"You always did," Sherlock said.

"I still love you, Sherlock," John said softly.

"I still love you, too, John," Sherlock said. They lay still for a few moments. "Should we go to sleep now?"

John took a deep breath and nodded. "Okay. We can sleep now," he said.

Sherlock closed his eyes and listened to a sound he thought he'd never hear again: John Watson falling asleep beside him.


	16. More Honesty

This time John slept soundly through the night. Whether that was because of Sherlock or not, he didn't know, but he woke up feeling grateful and, upon seeing Sherlock beside him, happier than he had in a long time.

Sherlock opened his eyes and looked at John. "We made it through the night," he whispered before yawning and smiling. "Good morning."

"Morning," John murmured. The talk they had last night felt like a dream. But it was real and as a result, he felt better.

"I suppose I'm the one who has to get the tea, even though I remember some vague promise ..." Sherlock said, rubbing his face and stretching a little. He pushed himself up and then looked over at John. "You feel all right?"  
  
John nodded. "Yeah, I think so. How about you?"

"I feel good, I think," Sherlock said. He stood up and dug around to find his dressing gown. "I have to get my things from Mycroft's ... and tell him about you. I won't lie -- I'm not looking forward to that."

John pushed himself up into a sitting position. "It'll be okay. Just do what you need to do and come home," he said.

"Will you come with me?" Sherlock asked tentatively.

John hesitated as he thought about it. "Okay, sure," he said. He shifted and got out of bed. For some reason he thought his leg would be fine and when he stood, he stumbled a bit. Hoping Sherlock hadn't been watching, he gripped his cane and stood properly. "I'll shower first, if that's okay." 

Sherlock moved out to the kitchen and turned the kettle on. He walked towards the window and looked out at the street. He heard John turn on the shower. Then Sherlock took a few deep breaths and then went to pour the tea.

John stood under the hot water for a long time before he started to wash up. When he grabbed the shampoo, he studied the bottle and grinned. It was his, the brand from the summer when Sherlock was living with him. But then his smile faded because this had to be on purpose. Sherlock had never stopped thinking about him, and suddenly guilt pooled in John's chest. Sherlock hadn't been lying about not being with anyone else. He worked quickly and got out, going up to his room to put proper clothes on.

When he came to the kitchen where Sherlock was sitting, John hugged him tightly, kissing the top of his head. 

"What's that all about? Has something happened?" Sherlock said, moving back a little. He reached out and touched John's arm. "Sorry. I'm not used to ... touching all the time. I'm sorry. I don't want you to stop."

John shrugged. "I just ... the shampoo," he said lamely.

"Right," Sherlock said, even though he wasn't sure what John meant. "You look handsome. There's your tea -- I'm going to go shower. If you don't mind, I think I'd rather get this part over with as soon as possible.

John nodded. "All right," he said. He sat down and sipped at his tea.

Sherlock hurried in the bathroom, showering and shaving then getting dressed. Before he returned to the kitchen, he sent his brother a text.

_Have something for you. Office or flat? SH_

He tidied up the bed while he waited for a response, smoothing his hand softly over the side John had slept on.

_Office. MH_

Sherlock slid his phone into his pocket and went out to find John. "Ready?" he asked.

John nodded, standing again and getting his coat. "What's your brother doing now?" He asked.

"He's gone mad with power," Sherlock said. "But I suppose he also saved my life so ... in some ways, very little has changed on that front."  
  
They took a taxi to Mycroft's flat, and Sherlock packed up all his things into two bags. He carried them as they walked around the corner, and Sherlock popped into a shop to buy a bottle of whiskey. They took a cab to Mycroft's office, riding up together in the lift.

Before the door opened, Sherlock said, "It might work best if you wait outside the office, all right? You can watch my bags. Would you mind?"

"Oh, all right. Sure," John nodded.

Sherlock stepped in to the office, looking at Anthea who nodded and pushed a button on her phone. Sherlock went through. Mycroft was sitting with his back to the door.

"What was it you were working on last night?" Mycroft asked, without turning his chair.

"Just getting some things sorted," Sherlock said.

"What it is you have for me?"

"This," Sherlock said, placing the bottle of whiskey on his brother's desk.

Mycroft turned around and looked at the bottle and then at Sherlock.

"And this," Sherlock added, setting Mycroft's flat key next to the bottle.

"I'm not sure this is a wise idea," Mycroft said, pushing the bottle and key a bit to the side.

"I am," Sherlock said. "Thank you," he added quietly. "But I'm ready now."

Mycroft swallowed. "Where will you stay?" he asked.

"I've found a flat," Sherlock said.

"On your own?"

Now Sherlock swallowed. "No," he said. "I have a flatmate."

Mycroft pulled out a pen and some paper. "Name, please," he said.

"No," Sherlock said.

Mycroft set the pen down. "Are you still working with Lestrade?" he asked casually.

"Yes."

"The name of your flatmate could allow that to continue," Mycroft said.

"Don't do this," Sherlock said.

"We don't have secrets, brother," Mycroft said.

"His name is John Watson," Sherlock said, hoping that John's name was something Mycroft had deleted.

"And the address?"

Sherlock watched his brother closely. "221B Baker Street."

"That's all the information I need," Mycroft said. He turned his chair around.

Sherlock stood still for a moment. He wasn't sure what to do. Then he turned and left the office. He picked up his bags and nodded towards John. "Let's go home," he said, moving towards the lift.

"Are you okay?" John asked, hurrying beside him as quickly as he could.

"I think so," Sherlock said. "I mean, yes, it was fine. It should be fine." He lifted his hand to get them a taxi. Once they were inside, he added, "Everything's fine. Sorry for all that."

"You don't have anything to apologise for."

"I do, John," Sherlock said, turning his head and looking out the window. "You don't know how much I have to apologise for."

John reached over and held his hand. "It's going to be fine," he said.

Sherlock turned and looked at John. "I hope so," he said and tried to smile.

They rode back to the flat, and Sherlock dropped his bags by his desk. "Should we go downstairs and get that over with?" he asked.

"Downstairs?" John asked, before he remembered the landlady. He wished he could have waited downstairs for Sherlock. "Okay."

Sherlock moved downstairs and knocked on the door.

Mrs Hudson pulled open her door and said hello to Sherlock, but her eyes were on John. "You're settling in?" she asked.

"We are," Sherlock said. "This is Doctor Watson. He'll be sharing the flat with me -- does he need to sign something?"  
  
"Come in," she said, stepping back to welcome them in. "So, where did you two meet?"

"Doctor Watson was my first love, and now after many years, he's returned to me," Sherlock said.

"Sherlock! The things you say," Mrs Hudson said, smacking his arm. "Are you sure you're be able to tolerate him, Doctor Watson? He can be extremely annoying." She dug around in a drawer looking for an extra key.

"Yes, we'll be okay," John smiled. He looked over at Sherlock and smiled wider.

Sherlock smiled back. "Perhaps you'd like to come up later this week, once we're all settled in," he said to her.

"Maybe," she smiled since she noticed both of them were smiling. "Here you go, Doctor Watson," she said, handing him the key. "I'll bring up the lease later on -- I'll give you a trial period just in case you change your mind after getting to know him.

"I promise I won't," John said, fitting the key on the ring in his pocket.

"Confident," she said.

"We'll be off," Sherlock said. "Thanks," he added.

"Be good now," she said as she let them out.

Sherlock bounded up the stairs and put the kettle on. When John came in, he said, "Well, it's all sorted now. It's just gone midday, but I feel exhausted actually."

"Actually I think I'm going to lay down for a little bit," John said. They'd done so much, and he was tired. He glanced at the stairs going to his room and made for the sofa instead.

"You're not that old, John Watson," Sherlock said, carrying the tea in. "You had a full night's sleep and you need a nap?"

"Not a full night's, if you remember. Second, I'm not lying down to sleep, I'm lying down to rest." He sat on the sofa, pulled his leg up and lay down.

"Semantics," Sherlock said. He watched John as he sipped his tea. After a few moments, he got up and moved to the sofa, scooting in beside John. "Where does your leg hurt?" he asked, resting his hand on John's calf.

John shifted to make room for Sherlock. "My thigh. It shoots down," he said.

"I'll rub here," Sherlock said, massaging John's lower leg. "What are we going to do about this?" he asked softly.

"There's nothing that can be done."

"Okay," Sherlock said. He kept rubbing for a few more moments. "I'll let you rest," he said, standing up. "I'll go unpack my things."

"I'm sorry, Sherlock. I've tried so many things already," John explained.

"You're all right," Sherlock said. "What do I know anyway? I'm not the doctor -- you are." He winked. "Rest now. I'll wake you in a few hours if you fall asleep." He headed into his room.

He put away the rest of his things, setting a stack of papers on the chair which he'd put away in the desk later. Then he lay down on his own bed to rest a little himself. He'd been surprised by Mycroft's reaction, though he also feared that perhaps his brother was just biding his time for some big reaction. He didn't care: John's being back was what was right.

John dozed off even though he hadn't meant to. His mind brought him back to the war, only now with an injured leg so it was impossible to run around. He couldn't help or escape. He was stuck.

Sherlock got up and took the papers to his desk. He flicked through them and found one, which he folded in half and set aside. John made a small noise in his sleep, and Sherlock glanced up. John was clearly having a bad dream, which was worrying. Sherlock picked up the folded paper, walked over to John and set it on his chest, before he tapped John's arm and said, "John, it's time to wake up. I'll make us some tea."

John gasped and looked around before letting his head fall back again with a sigh. "Sorry," he mumbled, shifting to sit up. He caught the paper on his chest and opened it. "What's -- Sherlock? What's this?" He looked over the results, unsure as to why he had it.

Sherlock brought the tea over and took the paper from John, tossing it onto his desk. "You can trust me," he said quickly. "Did you have a bad dream?" he asked, taking a sip of tea.

John realised what Sherlock had just shown him. "I did, yeah," he answered.

"I wish I could help," Sherlock said. "Have you found anything at all that helps?"

John shook his head. "Although ... I didn't have one last night, the second time," he said.

"Do you have them all the time?" Sherlock asked.

"Most nights," John admitted.

"Do you want to sleep in my room from now on then -- I mean, if that helped?" Sherlock asked.

John hesitated. "Yeah, we can try it and see if it works every time," he said.

"Would you rather swap rooms or should I stay in there with you?"

John smiled softly. "I don't think it was the room that did it, Sherlock. I want to sleep with you," he said.

Sherlock's face felt warm. "Well, that's a bit forward but if you insist ..." he said. He got up and moved over to his desk. "Look, I want to check my email but maybe then I could tell you a little bit about what I work on, and you could see if you might be interested in working with me."  
  
John shifted on the sofa a little bit to face Sherlock better. "Okay," he said.

Sherlock responded to a few emails, and then started his explanation of his work. He described some of his past cases and then brought the laptop over to the sofa to show John his website.

"This is really interesting, Sherlock." John looked over at the computer as he explained things. It was the perfect work for him. He seemed very excited and animated when he spoke about it. John didn't even feel jealous. Just very happy for Sherlock.

"Your medical insight could be really useful," Sherlock said. "If you're interested, I mean."

"I am," he nodded. "I want to see what you do."

"Good," Sherlock said, smiling. "Good." He closed up his laptop. "I wish there was a way to drum up more business -- perhaps your good looks will draw them in." He winked and got up to put his computer on his desk.

"I'll write about you in my blog," he said. "I'm pretty sure only Harry reads it, but the word will spread when there's sexy detective stories in it."

"What blog?" Sherlock asked. "Wait, what sexy detective stories? What are you talking about?"  
  
"My therapist had me start a blog so I could assimilate better into civilian society," John said, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. "But nothing really happens to me. Until now, anyway. And you're the sexy detective, if you hadn't worked that out."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Are you going to write about me?" he asked. "Don't write about my brother." He sat down and looked over at John. "Have you written anything about your time away? I mean, when you were in the army?"

"No, I'm not supposed to," he said. "She said that won't help me move on."

"Is there anything ... you'd like to tell me?" Sherlock asked.

John bit the inside of his lip. "A lot happened, Sherlock. There's a lot ..."

"You can tell me anything you want," Sherlock said. "Or nothing. It's up to you."

John looked at Sherlock a moment longer and nodded. "Okay. But then you have to tell me everything too. Deal?"

"You don't have to tell me everything, John," Sherlock said. "You should only tell me what you want to tell me."

John took a deep breath again. He shifted on the sofa a bit. Then he started talking. He started from his training to meeting James to the accident, his promotions, the actual combat, and everything after he was shot. He talked for a long time, his voice quiet and steady. He looked at his hands the whole time, especially when he got to the part about his anger and bitterness, the darkest time for him. When he was finished he just fiddled with his fingers and waited.

Sherlock moved over and sat next to John. "I'm so sorry," he said softly. He picked up John's hand. He wished he was better at all of this -- he wanted to make all of John's pain go away.

"That's everything," John said, squeezing his hand lightly.

Sherlock lifted his hand to his face and then leaned onto John's shoulder and cried. "I'm sorry," he said again. He was apologising for everything -- for not being there, for wasting all his own opportunities, for not being able to help John now.

"Don't -- please don't say that," John said softly.

"I wish I could have protected you somehow," Sherlock said, pushing himself up. "I know it's stupid, I'm not a child, but I wish ... everything could have been different."  
  
"That's ridiculous," John said. "I want to have protected you as well. The point is, we're here now. These things have happened and now we have to live on." He sounded hypocritical, he knew, but he needed Sherlock to feel better.

Sherlock looked over at him. "You did ... I mean -- no one's ever hurt me ... because of you," he said.

John's brow furrowed in confusion. "I don't understand."

"I mean, I never had my heart broken again like you did," Sherlock said. "And everything bad that ever happened to me was my own fault because I made stupid choices, not because of the kinds of things you faced."

"Will you tell me about all of your things?" John asked, watching him closely.

"I might need some more tea," Sherlock said, getting up. He moved into the kitchen and put the kettle on. He put some biscuits on a plate and carried them to John. He went back to the kitchen and came back with the tea. "Listen," he said. "Nothing very interesting has happened to me." He sat down. "It was difficult ... being without you. I tried at university -- I did well at first, but then I got distracted, I suppose. It was lazy, but it just made it easier not to ... remember, but it went too far and ... he sent me to rehab."

John gripped the plate of biscuits tightly. Sherlock did drugs because of him? "I'm sorry I didn't keep in touch more," he said quietly.

"It's not your fault obviously -- I was just selfish and stupid," Sherlock said. "And embarrassed." He took a sip of tea. "You were doing ... important things and I ... couldn't grow up."

"I'm glad you didn't ...you know," John said, unable to say the words.

"Didn't what?" Sherlock asked.

"Die," John whispered, looking up at him.

"I didn't die," Sherlock said a bit stupidly. "I'm glad you didn't either. I wish you hadn't been hurt at all though."

John nodded. "Well, it could have been worse," he said. He looked at Sherlock before leaning in and kissing his mouth softly. "I can't believe I can do that again."

"You can," Sherlock said. "And other things."

John met his gaze and nodded. "And other things," he said softly.

"If you want ... we don't have to," Sherlock said a little nervously. He sat back a little. "Are you hungry?" he asked.

John saw Sherlock's anxiety. "A little, yeah," he said. "I can make something for us."

"Will that be all right?" Sherlock said.

"Yes, that's fine," he said.

As John went into the kitchen, Sherlock watched him. John lived here now. It was official -- he'd told Mycroft, they'd told Mrs Hudson. It was real.

John made some sandwiches and looked for a tray. When he couldn't find one, he walked out with Sherlock's first and then turned to go back for his own.

"Thanks," Sherlock said. When John returned, Sherlock flipped on the television and then slid the remote over to John. "Pick whatever you want," he said.

John flipped to the news for now, eating quietly beside Sherlock.

When they'd finished eating, Sherlock carried their plates into the kitchen, rinsing them in the sink. He came back with two cups of tea. "Do you want to do something tonight?" he asked.

John looked over at him. "What did you have in mind?" He asked.

"Well, nothing really," Sherlock said. "I was never good at coming up with ideas of things to do."

"I didn't know if you were referring to ... you know. Specifics." He motioned to the bedroom.

Sherlock looked at the television. "I'm not very good at coming up with new things there either."  
  
John nodded. "It's okay. Let's watch a film or something."

Sherlock waited as John flipped through the channels, settling on an old film. "I remember, though," Sherlock said after a few moments. "I might not be able to come up new things ... but I remember what we've done."

John looked over at him. "Right. And ... would you want to do that again?"

"I would," Sherlock said. "Would you?"

John nodded. "Yeah, I would."

"How badly do you want to see this film?" Sherlock asked, reaching over and resting his hand on John's leg.

"Not even a little bit," John said, taking Sherlock's hand.

Sherlock turned off the television and stood up. He led John into the bedroom. "Stand by the bed," he said, stepping close to him. He lifted his hand to John's face and held it. "I've thought about you ..."

John set his cane against the bedside table and lifted both arms to Sherlock's chest.

Sherlock stepped closer, sliding his hands around John's waist. He kissed his mouth softly, slow and long, as his hands moved up John's back. "I'm going to take care of you," he whispered when the kiss ended.

John shivered lightly. "I'm not sure how much I can move ..." He hadn't tried this since his injury. "Sorry," he added, realising he was ruining the moment. 

Sherlock smiled at John. "Don't be nervous," he said, still rubbing John's back. "I'll take care of everything." He leaned in and kissed him again.

John slid one hand into Sherlock's hair. It had been so long since he'd held Sherlock like this. He tugged him closer, desperate.

Sherlock slipped his hands under John's jumper, pulling it over his head, and then unbuttoned his shirt. He leaned in and kissed John's exposed collarbone, and then let the shirt fall to the floor. He kissed up and down John's neck as his hands slipped to undo John's belt.

John's hands moved quickly to get Sherlock's shirt open as well. His hands were steady, swift.

Sherlock moved slightly to allow John to take off his shirt. Then he unzipped John's jeans and slipped his hand inside, palming John's cock over his pants. "God," he moaned quietly. "I've missed everything about this ..."

John moaned Sherlock's name as he closed his eyes, remembering.

Sherlock kissed his mouth again, hungrily this time as he used his other hand to push John's trousers down. He smiled. "I can't get them off on my own," he said.

"Oh," John smiled, pushing his trousers and pants down together. "You too, please."

Sherlock stepped back a little and took off the rest of his clothes. He looked over at John -- he couldn't see him clearly in the dark room, but he could tell that John was even more muscular than he'd been. He ran his hand over John's chest and then pressed him back so he'd lie down on the bed.

John pulled Sherlock down over him. He kissed him hard, pressing their bodies together.

Sherlock felt his whole body warm as his skin touched John's. "Fuck," he mumbled as he reached under John's hips and pulled them towards his own.

John moaned and easily bucked up against Sherlock, reaching between them to stroke their cocks.

Sherlock gasped at John's touch and then let his hips rock against the movement. He closed his eyes and dropped his head next to John's, pressing a kiss on his ear. "I don't have any condoms," he whispered. "Do you? You know I'm safe but ..." 

"I don't have any, but I'm safe too. I haven't been with anyone since I was in the hospital. But if you don't want to until we get some, it's okay ..."

Sherlock squeezed shut his eyes. He didn't want to think about John being with other people -- it didn't matter how long ago it was. Yet it still felt so good, being with John like this again. He reached a hand down and started to stroke John. "Don't stop," he mumbled. "It feels good ..."

John nodded, kissing Sherlock hard again as their hands moved together.

Sherlock kissed John back. He was overwhelmed with memories -- recognising John's sounds and movements. "Please," he moaned. "I'm going to . . ." and suddenly he was coming and panting. His hips jerked against John, but he tried his best to keep his own hand moving.

John groaned softly, stroking faster to catch up. He kissed Sherlock, listening to his soft pants and moans so that he could come as well. He groaned louder, arching under Sherlock.

"Please," Sherlock moaned again, lifting up a little bit to watch.

John came, squeezing stroking harder as he moaned Sherlock's name.

Sherlock dropped next to John. He caught his breath and tried to find some words. The only one he could find was "stay," which he mumbled against John's neck.

John nodded as he panted softly to catch his breath.

Sherlock shifted a little. "Here," he said. "Let's get into the bed properly." He pulled the blanket down and slid under.

John shifted slowly and got under the covers with Sherlock. He lay on his side, smiling softly at him.

"That was good," Sherlock said, a bit stupidly. "I'm sorry about ..."  
  
"It was good," John said.

"You'll still sleep in here, right?"

"Yes, of course," John said.

Sherlock curled around John a bit. "Will everything be all right, do you think?" he asked.

John nodded. "I do think it will be," he said.

"I hope so," Sherlock said. He lay there for a few moments, softly stroking John's arm. "If you have a nightmare, you'll wake me up, right?"

John studied him closely. "Well, we'll see," he said.

Sherlock pinched his arm lightly. "That's what I'm here for so wake me up, all right?" he said before yawning. "You've exhausted me." He shifted a little to get more comfortable. "John," he whispered. "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything," John said as he got more comfortable and he tugged the covers up. 

"Do you think you'd like to keep doing that kind of stuff with me?" Sherlock said. "I know I'm not as experienced as you, and I'd just like to make sure that, you know, it's what you want and everything. I will get better at it ... not be so fast next time."

"I would like that," John said. He watched Sherlock for a moment. "Would you?"

"Obviously," Sherlock said. "I only ever liked it with you." He tucked his head into John's arm. "I know you can't say the same ... I guess that's why I was worried."

"But you're different," John said. "It feels better with you."

"Why would you say that?" Sherlock asked. "Don't lie just to be nice."

"I'm not lying to be nice," he said. "I love you. It feels the best with you."

Sherlock wasn't sure what that meant, but it didn't matter -- he'd never know the different ways it could feel because it would only be John for him. "I think I might go to sleep soon. Don't be cross, all right? I'm just out of practice."

"I won't be cross," John said, rubbing his back lightly. 

Sherlock closed his eyes. He was pretty sure he felt all right about everything that was happening. It felt familiar and right, but he kept trying to remind himself that he wasn't a teenager anymore. He couldn't go back to behaving like a child.


	17. Interference

Sherlock woke up to flat on the bed. He rubbed his eyes and turned his body towards John's, when he noticed the scar on John's shoulder. He looked closely at it and then slid his arm around John's stomach, pulling in to spoon him. "It's morning, Watson," he said.

John shifted as he woke up, moving back to the warmth of Sherlock's body. He covered Sherlock's hand and held it. "Morning," he murmured.

Sherlock lay still for a moment, cuddling close to John. Then he said, "I saw your shoulder."

John tensed lightly in his arms. He knew the scar looked horrible, he wondered what Sherlock thought about it. "It won't go away ..."

"It's all right, John," Sherlock said. "It's part of you. Does it hurt? Can I look at it again?"

John shifted into his back slowly. "The actual wound doesn't anymore. My shoulder aches sometimes, and there's the tremor from the nerve damage but ... not the wound itself." He glanced down at the starburst scar before letting Sherlock look properly.

Sherlock pulled his head back a little and inspected it more closely. Then he put a soft kiss over it and hugged John tight again. "Are we getting up at all today?" he asked.

"I suppose we should, as nice as this is," John smiled.

Sherlock put a kiss on the back of John's neck and then got up. "I'm going to go shower," he said and then he did. Once he was out, he put the kettle on and checked his email while John got ready.

"A possible client's going to come by," Sherlock said. "Is that all right?"

John was excited to see Sherlock work. He grabbed a notebook and took a seat in his chair. "In case we write it up," he explained.

Sherlock smiled. "That's clever," he said. "And quite cute," he added, though the word didn't feel any more comfortable to him than the one time he'd used it all those years before. He tidied up a bit and soon enough the client had arrived. Sherlock let her in and brought her upstairs.

"This is my colleague, Doctor Watson," he said, motioning for her to sit down. "He'll be taking notes for me."  
  
"That's fine," she said. "I feel a bit stupid even being here really ... it's just my mother suggested I contact someone, you know, just to be sure."  
  
"Go on," Sherlock said.  
  
"Well, it's just the guy I'm dating -- well, yeah, I guess you could call it dating," she said.

Sherlock made a small sigh. It was a cheating case -- not his favourite as they were usually quite stupid and boring.

"I feel like I trust him," she continued. "It's just ... well, see, I used to know him a long time ago. Back in college. I guess you could say he was my first love, but then we went our separate ways and we've just recently met again ... and I guess I'm just not sure what to think."  
  
John jotted away one the little pad, glancing up as the woman spoke.

"Has he done anything to make you suspicious?" Sherlock asked. There must be something more here -- if it was a matter of nosiness, a quick internet search could solve her problem.

"Well," she said. "That's just it -- no. He seems pretty much the same."

"I see," Sherlock said, even though he wasn't quite sure he did. 

"It's just moving quite fast -- like he wants us to live together," she said. "Yes, I'm lonely and yes, I'd loved to go back to how it was but it's just ... doesn't it all seem a bit convenient?

Sherlock looked her over, trying to determine her income and background. Perhaps this man was after something of her. "So are you worried that he's got a wife or family? Or was in prison?" Sherlock asked. "I'm afraid I need a bit more before I know what I'm looking for."  
  
"It's just -- he seems the same and he says he feels the same," she said. "I mean, how can that be? A lot of time has passed. I am not the same as I was back then. I don't just mean I've grown up -- obviously he has as well -- I mean, I'm not the same person. Life has changed me and it must have changed him. How can he claim to be the same? How can everything feel exactly the same as it did before?"  
  
Sherlock glanced over at John. It was a little bit embarrassing really -- he'd wanted John to see him doing something quite clever, but this case wasn't about clever. Obviously this woman knew getting back together with this man was a ridiculous idea, and she was just looking for an objective party to reassure her. That wasn't really in Sherlock's job description.

"Perhaps you should just talk to him," he told her. "This really isn't what I do."  
  
"You investigate people, don't you? That's what I need, I'm too close to ... see things properly," she said. "I'm sure I look stupid or desperate ..."  
  
Sherlock made a little cough. She did. She looked stupid and desperate actually. What kind of person would just welcome someone who was basically a complete stranger into her life, just because she didn't like being alone?

John kept writing, looking between them now and wondering what Sherlock would make of it all.

"If you feel the same as well, what's the problem?" he asked.

"Well, I'm hoping there's no problem," she said. "But if everything was fine, why the rush? I mean, if we're both reasonable and intelligent people, what would it hurt to find out more about him before I make any decisions?"

"Are you both reasonable and intelligent people?" Sherlock asked. He was feeling a bit annoyed at this point.

"Yeah, well, yes, I mean, of course," she said. "I went to university, I've got a good job, and he's ... um, he's a doctor." She glanced down at her lap. "Are you going to take the case or not?"  
  
"All I can do is what you could do yourself if you really wanted to know more about this man," Sherlock said. "But if you're happy to pay me to do that, I suppose I could." Then he looked up at her. "You said he was a doctor?"

"Yes," she said.

"And you met in college but you've not seen or even really heard from him since then?"

"Correct," she said. "And now he wants us to move in together and go back to how it --"

"And where is it you work?" Sherlock interrupted.  
  
"I didn't say ... in an office, I work in an office," she stuttered.

"And your employer's name?" Sherlock said, glaring over at her.

"Um, I didn't say," she said. "Why? What ... what difference does it make?"

"Get out," Sherlock said, standing up.

"What?" she asked, glancing over at John.  
  
"Get out," Sherlock said again, moving to the door. "And tell him that everything here is just fine."

She gathered her things together and got up. "He's right about you, you know," she said, heading out the door. "It's been lovely finally meeting you," she added sarcastically.

Sherlock stared down the stairs, waiting to hear the front door close. This was humiliating. He shut the door and stood there for a moment, not sure what to do or say.

"Sherlock?" John asked confused, but the woman was leaving and it seemed like she'd been referred by someone Sherlock knew. John pushed himself up and walked over. "Sherlock? What happened? Who was that?"

"I'm guessing she works for my brother," Sherlock said, walking past John to the kitchen. "It's fine ... I don't know why I expected him to just accept things. I'm sorry about that. I do have real work ... maybe I should get in touch with my police contact..." He busied himself with some random papers as if that would make the embarrassment disappear.

"Your brother? Why would he do that?" John asked, slowly following him into the kitchen.

"Because he's trying to appear clever," Sherlock said, hanging him a mug. "And trying to make me appear foolish." Which was exactly how he felt. He moved over to the desk and sent Lestrade an email, hoping to drum up some kind of real case he could work on with John.

John thought about the things the woman had been saying and realised it was their story. He followed Sherlock and sat in his chair again. "I assume he doesn't approve?"

"He doesn't know anything about it, does he?" Sherlock snapped, even though he hadn't intended to. He was angry -- not at John, not even at his brother, but at himself. He was pretty sure he hadn't made a mistake letting John back into his life, but he was angry he hadn't spent more time questioning things. If he had, Mycroft's little games would mean nothing.

John flinched very slightly and focused on slowly drinking his tea. After a few quiet moments he said, "I know we jumped into this kind of fast but it's not really starting over with new people. Just continuing. The thing that was 'fast' was our two weeks of sex. We hardly knew anything about each other. Now we will have a chance to really learn about each other. We just hit pause it for a little bit. And now we're playing again. The thing that remains the same is that I love you. And if you love me too then I want to do this."

"But you live here ..." Sherlock said. He wished he could explain what was going on in his head, but in truth he wasn't entirely sure -- was he afraid he wouldn't like John once they learned about each other or was he afraid that John wouldn't like him? "Let's not let him interfere," he added.

John flushed lightly. "Yeah, fine," he said a bit shortly. He felt embarrassed about his little rant. He drank more tea and, despite his leg, pushed himself up again to take his own mug to the kitchen. He took his time at the sink to wash it, trying to let whatever feeling was building up fade back down.

Sherlock watched John. Things felt different in the flat, and suddenly he wanted to leave. He stood up and stretched, trying to act casually. "I think I might walk down and get the papers," he said, moving towards the door.

John merely hummed to show he'd heard. He felt a swell of bitterness. He wanted to leave, to walk away from Sherlock for a little while and get his head together. But his damn leg only let him escape to the next room like a child. He heard the door, and he stopped pretending to wash his mug. He made his way up to his room and lay down, rubbing his thigh as he closed his eyes and let his mind wander. This is how Sherlock was back then as well. He knew that. Reserved and nervous that everything he was doing was wrong. And now he was going to let his brother convince him that this was wrong too. He would ask John to leave while they figured out how to be together again. He would have to go back to that horrible bedsit.

Sherlock walked down the street and into the news agents. He didn't buy a paper, but he did buy a packet of cigarettes. He lit one as he walked. He realised he had no idea where he was going. He went down between two buildings and pulled out his phone.

_I'm doing well. SH_

He hit sent and waited. It'd been quite a while since he'd had to send this sort of text. He wondered if it would still work. He'd finished his cigarette and had just lit another one when his phone rang.

"Are you in danger?" Thomas asked.

"No," Sherlock said. "John's come back."  
  
"Did you speak to him?"  
  
"Yes," Sherlock said. "He lives with me."  
  
"I see," Thomas said. He was quiet for a moment. "Why are you calling me?" he asked.

"Because what if I've made a mistake?" Sherlock asked.

"What if you have?" Thomas replied.

"Do you think I have?"

"I don't make your decisions, Sherlock," Thomas said. "Why did you invite him to live with you?"

"You know why," Sherlock mumbled.

"Because you love him?"

Sherlock's silence spoke his answer.

"Are you worried you don't really love him or are you worried you'll get hurt again?" Thomas asked.

Sherlock took a drag off of his cigarette. "I don't know," he said.

"You're lying," Thomas said. "I don't even have to see your face to know you're lying."  
  
"The second one," Sherlock mumbled.

"That is the correct answer, Sherlock, and do you know why?" Thomas said. "Because that's what everyone worries about when they love someone. I know you don't like this word, but that fear is entirely _normal_. As I said, I don't make your decisions for you, but if you're calling for my advice, I think you already know what it is. Don't run away, Sherlock."

"Fine," Sherlock said. He threw the cigarette down and started to walk. "Thank you," he added.

"You know how to reach me," Thomas said and hung up.

Sherlock went back into the news agents and then headed back to the flat.

John was starting to doze when his phone vibrated. He rolled to the side to get it, looking at the unknown number.

_Has he told you about Thomas? -MH_

John stared at the message for a long time. The initials clicked and he sat up now, looking closely at the message. Had Sherlock lied about never having met anyone? If Mycroft was bringing it up he couldn't have good motives behind it. John wondered who Thomas was and what he meant to Sherlock.

_Who is that? -JW_

John waited but there was no reply. His mind was making up a hundred different things. Sherlock hardly told him anything about his past, even skating over the drug bit without too many details. Was this man the reason? What role did he play?

Sherlock let himself into the flat. "John?" he called when he didn't see him downstairs. "I'm back." He nipped into his bedroom and then came back out to the sofa.

John got up and made his way down to the sitting room. "Who's Thomas?" he asked, realising as soon as it was out that he probably could have done that a little better.

"What?" Sherlock said, his hand moving to his phone as some kind of defense mechanism. "What do you know about him?"

"Well, that's the thing, isn't it? I don't know anything," he said. He opened the message from Mycroft and tossed his phone to Sherlock.

Sherlock dropped the phone on the chair. He hated his brother at the moment, because Mycroft refused to trust him. Sherlock hadn't always given his brother reason to trust him, true, but that's not what this was about. He remembered that first conversation in his bedroom at the beach house. Mycroft's concern wasn't about Sherlock's recovery being at risk -- it was about Mycroft's inability to understand that sometimes emotions were good. Sherlock got up and made two cups of tea, bringing them over and sitting down across from John.

"Thomas is a man who helped me when I was in rehab," Sherlock said. "And after rehab." He took a sip of tea. "As a matter of fact, I just spoke to him a few minutes ago. He is someone who helps me."

"I told you everything, Sherlock. Everything," John repeated as he sat down.

"I don't know what else you want me to tell you, John," Sherlock said.

"You left out a whole person, someone important enough for you to still be in contact with."

"Because it's -- " Sherlock started and then thought for a moment. "Because it's embarrassing that it took drug addiction for me to learn how to behave ... normally about these things." He stared into his tea, but then realised what he was doing so he made himself look up at John. "He knows about you."

John didn't know what to say to that do he just waited for more.

"I don't love him or anything," Sherlock said. "He let me talk about you. He just ... helps."

"Why didn't you just tell me about him? That night when I said all that stuff?"

"Because my past seemed so ... ridiculous compared to yours," Sherlock said. "Because you were out saving people and I was being an idiot. I don't want you to think of me as a child, yet everything that happened while you were away ... " He ran his hand over his face. "I'm not a child anymore, John. My brother might treat me like one and I might sometimes need help, but I'm not a child."

"I never said you were, Sherlock. I never treated you that way. I wasn't lying when I said I wanted to know everything, and I wasn't judging."

"I was worried you would," Sherlock said. "Because I was. I wanted to be better than I was."

"I love you, regardless," John said.

"Why?" Sherlock asked.

John's mouth faltered. "Really? You don't know after everything?"

Sherlock sat forward in his chair. "I'm not trying to fight you, John Watson," he said. "I want to ask you, do you know why? Like the real reasons? Have you thought about that?" He sat back again. "Because I have. I know that I love you and I know why I love you and I want you to stay here with me. All right?" He crossed his legs and picked up his cup again.

John sighed and realised he'd been waiting for Sherlock to just say the words. "Well, I want to stay here with you too."

"All right then," Sherlock said. He was silent as he finished his tea. "On another note, did you sleep well last night?" he asked.

John leaned back in his seat. "I did, yes."

"Shame," Sherlock said. He put his cup down and stretched a little in his chair.

"Didn't you hear me?" John asked. "I slept well -- no nightmares."

"I know," Sherlock, kicking off his shoes. "It's just ... I'm a bit tired actually and was thinking of going into the bedroom. But if you had a good night's sleep ... you probably wouldn't be interested in joining me..."

John smiled softly. "Ah ... well ..." He yawned loudly and obviously fake. "I did do that washing up so maybe I should have a rest."


	18. In The Bedroom

Sherlock stood up and moved over John's chair. He leaned down and kissed John's mouth hard, lifting his hands to John's hair to tip his head and deepen the kiss.

John moaned as he leaned up to return the kiss eagerly. He touched Sherlock's chest, pulling him close.

Sherlock moved back, pulling John with him. "Come on," he said. "Come to bed with me."

John stood and followed, kissing Sherlock the whole way as his body heated.

As soon as they got into the room, Sherlock turned them and pushed John up against the door, kissing his mouth hungrily. He moved his body closer, closing the space between them. John moaned as his hands touched every part of Sherlock, tugging out his shirt and touching his bare skin before starting to get it off.

Sherlock stepped back. "Take your clothes off first," he said with a devilish smile.

John grinned and bit his lip. He took his time pulling his clothes off, watching Sherlock the whole time. Sherlock watched John as his body was revealed. He stepped closer and began caressing John's shoulders, dragging his mouth down his neck. "I've seen many bodies," Sherlock mumbled. "You are the perfect specimen, John Watson." His hands moved down John's side and gripped his hips.

John leaned up and kissed him. "You're so sexy," he said. He was still fiddling with Sherlock's clothes. "Let me see you..."

"All right," Sherlock said, pulling John along to the bed. "Lie down," he said and then he began to remove his clothes, slowly and deliberately, watching John as he did. John watched him, his eyes raking over every inch of Sherlock, every new part exposed. Once Sherlock had his clothes off, he stood at the side of the bed, leaning over to kiss John's mouth. As he did he let his hand slide down John's chest and stomach to his thigh where he let it rest before moving over to just lightly hold his cock.

John move into his hand before pulling him down. "Lie next to me -- I want to feel you," he said as they kissed. 

Sherlock shifted onto the bed so he was lying by John's side. He kissed his mouth again as he reached down, this time just caressing John's cock as it stiffened in his hand.

John reached down to grip Sherlock's cock, stroking at the same rhythm and dipping to kiss his neck, down to the nape where he started to suck and bite softly to leave a mark. 

Sherlock inhaled, smelling the shampoo in John's hair. For a moment, it felt like it had all those years ago when everything was new. He let his hips respond to John's touch as he kept his hand moving. Then he shifted a little, climbing over John and rolling his hips as he sucked hard on John's neck.

"Sherlock..." John moaned, rubbing both hands along his sides and back now. He rolled up over and over for friction, one hand coming up to bury in Sherlock's curls. 

Sherlock moved his mouth over John's neck and then up to his face, covering it with kisses as he continued to rock them on the bed. Then he slowly moved down the bed, sucking for a moment on each of John's nipples until moved between his legs. He held John's cock and began sucking the tip before sliding it all into his mouth.

John groaned and gripped his hair again, moaning his name.

Sherlock lifted his head to look quickly at John. "I want it to be good ... good like I remember," he mumbled and then nuzzled his cock again before slowly taking it in and out of his mouth. His free hand gripped the soft flesh of John's thigh.

"You're perfect," John breathed. "Better ...better than I remember," he said as he lifted his head to watch again. 

Sherlock pushed his hips into the mattress as he continued to move his mouth on John's cock. Then he dropped his head and licked between John's leg, making everything warm and wet, as he continued to knead John's leg.

John shifted lightly on the bed, lying flat again as he let his legs fall open a bit more.

Sherlock's brain was overloaded with all the sensations -- the way the memories blended with the present into nothing but good feelings. He moved a little lower on the bed, using his mouth on John's balls and his thighs and then he mumbled, "There's lube and condoms in the drawer."

John reached beside himself for the lube, then made to sit up, assuming they would be switching positions.

"Lie back, John," Sherlock said, taking the lube from his hand. He dribbled some into his hand and began rubbing between John's legs as he kissed his abdomen. He slowly pushed a finger inside him, nuzzling John's cock as he did.

John met Sherlock's gaze before lying back, gasping softly at the intrusion. "Sherlock -- oh," he moaned.

Sherlock began pumping his finger, slowly and rhythmically. "I remember all this," he mumbled a bit stupidly. "Does it feel good?" he asked as he pushed in a second finger.

John nodded. He clutched the bed and tried to keep still.

"Condom," Sherlock requested. He pressed himself against the bed in anticipation.

John reached for back into the drawer. "Sherlock, I need you," he murmured as he passed it down.

Sherlock pushed himself back and rolled a condom on. He moved close and pushed slowly inside John, moaning loudly as he did. He leaned over John's body. "I missed that feeling," he said and kissed him hard.

John gasped as he was filled, stretched open. "Sherlock --" he called, kissing him hard.

"I don't know why I fell in love with you then, John, but I did and I still feel the same, John, I do," Sherlock said before starting to rock his hips slowly and softly. His whole body filled with heat from the intense connection between them.

"I love you so much, Sherlock." John pulled his knees back a bit to feel him deeper, his hands moving over Sherlock's back and arse. Sherlock kissed John's mouth hard as his movements sped up. Everything felt even better than he'd remembered.

John shifted and rest their foreheads together, holding Sherlock's gaze. It felt incredible to feel Sherlock filling him, to have him like this again. He closed his eyes. The heat was building as they moved together. "M'close ..."

Sherlock pushed himself up on his hands to give John room to touch himself. "Please," he mumbled and then closed his eyes as he let his urges take over. His hips thrust steadily against John and he could feel himself begin to tumble over the edge, his whole body tightening and then releasing in a final push.

John stroked himself quickly, in time with Sherlock's movements. With a small gasped he came between them, moaning Sherlock's name as his free hand clutched Sherlock's arm.

"God, I love you," Sherlock said, dropping down on to John as they both tried to catch their breaths.

"I love you too," John exhaled, wrapping his arms around Sherlock. He felt warm and sated, happy.

Sherlock closed his eyes and thought for a few moments. That had been something they'd done before, back at the beach, but it wasn't the same -- it was better. Their time together at the beach was over, there was no reason to long for that time anymore. At the beach, Sherlock knew from the beginning that it would end: from the very first day, he'd known they'd only have two weeks together. That was no longer the case. He no longer needed to assume John was going to leave again. He needed to assume he'd stay. Maybe one or both of them might change their minds, but that's how life worked. He had to live this version of them now and make the most of it while it was happening, rather than worrying about how it would end.

He opened his eyes again and looked over at John. "Let's rest for a little bit and then get up and get you some food," he said.

John nodded as he curled close to Sherlock, closing his eyes for a few minutes. "Thank you for that, by the way."

"Don't thank me, John," Sherlock said. "It's not like that anymore ... it's not you teaching me things." He lifted a hand to stroke John's hair. "I mean, I'm sure you know more and I am open to new things, but we're adults now -- we should do the things we want to do, not do things someone else wants us to do. I wanted to do that."  
  
John kissed Sherlock's shoulder. It did mean a lot to John, remembering Sherlock's reluctance when they first met.

"That said," Sherlock said, smiling a little. "It doesn't mean I don't also want to do the other things we did." He dipped his head and looked at John. "Because I do want to do those things as well."

"We have time to do everything now," John reminded him. He kissed Sherlock and stretched before sitting up. "I'm going to the bathroom real quick," he said. He got out of bed and made his way down the hall.

"Bring back some water, would you?" Sherlock called and then got underneath the covers. "And don't take forever -- I'm bored in here without you."  
  
John finished up, washed his hands, and went to the kitchen to get water for them. He felt good, happy. He made his way into the room, backing in through the door and turning dramatically to hand Sherlock a glass.

Sherlock glanced up at John as he came in. He smiled. "You've got a spring in your step for someone walking around without his cane," he said, pushing himself up to take the glass.

John froze. He looked at his one, now empty hand, and then around the room, and then at Sherlock who was smugly drinking from his glass of water. He didn't feel pain. He put his glass down and walked around the bed. Nothing. He jumped once. Then again. He was grinning. He walked over to the bed and climbed up, straddling Sherlock's hips and taking his glass away to set down as well. "My leg is better," he said, and he kissed Sherlock hard. 

"I see that,"" Sherlock said, letting his hands roam up John's back. "That must have been quite a miraculous trip to the toilet," he laughed.

John pinched his hip and kissed him harder, shifting both of them so they were lying down again, John still on top of him. He felt so good -- he felt like he could do anything. 

"Are you going to start training for the marathon now?" Sherlock asked. He reached down and stroked John's hip lightly.

"Maybe," John said, moving down lower between Sherlock's legs. He kissed down his body, opening Sherlock's legs a bit and stroking Sherlock's cock. His free hand reached for the lube, pouring a bit on Sherlock and pushing one finger inside. "I can do so much more than a marathon," he said. 

Sherlock let his hips rock with John's movement into him. "God," he moaned softly. "I remember that feeling ..."

John kept stroking and added a second finger, kissing Sherlock's hips. "I love you," he said. 

"I know you do," Sherlock said. He squeezed John's shoulder.

John added a third finger slowly, pulling his hand away from Sherlock's cock to open a condom. He used his mouth to tear it open and then rolled it on before pulling his other hand away and tugging Sherlock a little closer. He pushed inside, steady and gently, but completely. 

"Go slow," Sherlock exhaled as he adjusted to the feeling. He lifted his hands up to John, pulling him close.

John nodded. Without the pain in his leg he could control his body better, moving his hips in slow rolls.

"God, John," Sherlock said. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the feeling of John inside him, like a part of him. His whole body was hot. "More..." he mumbled.

John kept his rhythm slow, and steady, just because he could. "Just like this," he murmured.

"Kiss me," Sherlock said, looking deeply into John's eyes.

John complied, kissing Sherlock's mouth as they moved together. 

Sherlock slipped his hand between their bodies and began stroking himself. "Jesus, John," he said. "It all feels so good."

John nodded, kissing him again. "Come with me," he said.

"Fuck," Sherlock said, speeding up his movement. "I'm ---" but it was too late, and he was coming against John's stomach, squeezing around him.

John gasped and came with Sherlock, moaning and calling out his name.

Sherlock grasped John tight around his back. He covered his face with kisses.

"I love you so much," John mumbled.

"I love you too," Sherlock said. "Even though I'm going to kind of miss the cane," he added with a smile.

"I can't believe it, Sherlock. I really can't."

"I can," Sherlock said. "You just needed time ... and a good fucking," he laughed, snorting a little, which made him laugh even more.

John laughed hard over Sherlock, face buried in his chest as they laughed together for several long minutes. "I just needed you, it seems."

"You have me, John," Sherlock said, reaching to touch John's cheek. "For as long as you want."

"For always."

"Good," Sherlock said. He stretched a little. "We're back in bed again," he said. "Are we actually going to get dinner at some point?"

"Yes. Let's get cleaned up. And walk. I fancy walking," John smiled wide.

"All right, Doctor Watson," Sherlock said, pushing himself up and getting out of bed. He winced a little. "I forgot about that," he said. "I suppose I've kind of missed it as well."

"I like it," John admitted, smiling over his shoulder as he went to the bathroom.

Sherlock slipped on his dressing gown and pulled some clean clothes out, while he waited for John to finish in the bathroom. He heard his phone vibrate and dug around in his trousers on the floor to find it.

"Sherlock?"  
  
"Mum," Sherlock said.

"Mycroft said John is back," she said bluntly.

"Not you, as well?" Sherlock said. "Please ... he's already tried to destroy this ...please don't you do the same."  
  
"Why would I do that?" 

"Why would he?"

"Well, you know how he is," his mother said. "He doesn't understand these things ... All I care about is if you are all right. Are you all right?"

"Of course I am," Sherlock said.

There was silence for a moment. "Would you like to bring John for dinner tomorrow?" she asked.

Sherlock tried to think but wasn't sure what to say. He trusted his mother, but he also knew his brother had already been in touch with her and would've happily lied to get her on side. "Will he be there?" he asked.

"Of course not," she said. "We'd like to see John again. And you obviously."

"I'll ask, John," he said.

"All right, just let me know," she said.

Sherlock hung up and wondered what John would think.

John came out of the bath and got dressed, coming down to Sherlock's room again. "Ready?"

"I need a shower," Sherlock said. He went into the bathroom and quickly showered, fiddling a bit with his hair before coming back out. "Now I'm ready."

They headed out to the street. "You sure you want to walk?" Sherlock asked John.

"Yes, I'm sure," he nodded.

As they walked along, Sherlock said, "What would you think about going to see my parents tomorrow?" He tried to keep his voice as casual as possible.

"Really?" John asked. "Do they remember me?"

"Of course," Sherlock said. "You've been the only --" He swallowed roughly and looked forward. "Anyway, they invited us for tomorrow but we don't have to go if you'd rather not."

"I do," he said. "I mean, I don't mind."

"All right," Sherlock said. "It'll be all right." He reached over and grabbed John's hand.

"I know," John said. "I'm not as nervous as I was then. I hope your mum won't be too angry with me."

"Why would she be angry with you?" Sherlock asked.

John shrugged and just squeezed his hand.

Sherlock glanced over and kept walking. He pulled open the door for John and followed him in.

John went to the table they used last time, waving at Angelo as they sat down.

Sherlock ordered some wine which Angelo brought before their food. He lifted his glass and said, "Let's make a toast."  
  
"Okay," John said, picking up his glass. 

"To finding each other that first summer and finding each other again," Sherlock said, raising his glass. It was quite sentimental, so he blushed a little, clinked John's glass and took a sip to hide his embarrassment.

John smiled and blushed lightly himself, taking a big sip of wine. 

Angelo brought the food a few minutes later. Sherlock told John about Lestrade and suggested that they go talk to him in the morning. Then he said, "So ... what do you think you'll be doing with your time now? Do you think you'll get a job?"

"I don't know," he said. "I know I should, I need to, but ... maybe." He was painfully aware that while his leg was cured now, that hadn't been a real injury. The tremor would never go away, though, and no matter how good he felt, he couldn't operate. 

"There's no hurry," Sherlock said, reaching over and touching John's hand. "We'll figure it out when it's time."

John smiled at him. "I'm not worried anymore."

"Good," Sherlock said. He thought about his own worries -- he knew they were still there, somewhere deep inside, but he hoped he'd be able to control them.

They finished their meal and took a taxi home. Sherlock put the kettle on and they sat together on the sofa as John flipped through the channels. "This is quite a good flat," Sherlock said, looking around. "I've been focused more on you and us, I mean, but this is a good place to live, I think."

John nodded. "Yes, I really like it here."

Sherlock looked over at him and smiled. It was John Watson -- someone he'd known for three weeks but also almost all his life. He took a sip of tea and reached over to rest his hand on John's leg.

John smiled and, without looking over, laced their fingers. Everything had worked out, much better than he could have hoped for.

After a while, Sherlock looked over at John and said, "Should we go to bed?"

"Yeah," John nodded, turning off the telly and getting up to stretch

Sherlock stood up and took the mugs to the sink. He stopped into the bathroom and then changed into his pajamas, before crawling into bed. Then he realised he'd just assumed John was coming in with him, so he called, "John? You're sleeping in here, right?"

"Of course," John said as he wandered in from the bathroom. He climbed into bed and scoot closer to Sherlock.

Sherlock reached over to turn off the lamp and then lay with his arm around John. "Things are good, right?" he asked softly.

"Very good," he said softly.

Sherlock made a small sigh and closed his eyes. He suddenly felt extremely tired and fell asleep quite quickly.

John listened to Sherlock's soft breaths until he dozed off himself, still curled close.


	19. The Beginning

In the middle of the night, Sherlock woke up with a small cough. He turned his head and watched John for a little while before falling back to sleep himself.

John woke up feeling more refreshed than he had in a long time. He smiled, remembering the night before and smiling at Sherlock.

Sherlock opened his eyes to John's smiling at him. "What are you looking at?" he asked, smiling himself.

"You," John said. "Because I can whenever I want now."

Sherlock pulled a face. Then he turned his body to face John's. "Do you still have those photographs you took before you left?" he asked.

John's smile faltered and he shook his head. "When I was shot, during the transfer and all of the moving around ... some of my things were lost."

"I still have them," Sherlock said. "On my computer ... after a while, I didn't think it was a good idea to have them on my phone."

John touched Sherlock's cheek, stroking softly. "I'm sorry I disappeared," he said.

"It doesn't matter ... you've reappeared," Sherlock said. He stretched a little. "I think I'll get up -- do you still want to go to Scotland Yard with me?"

"Yes. Are we going to your parent's place right after?"

"Probably," Sherlock said. "I'll text my mum."

"Okay," he smiled. "I think I'll take a shower real quick."

"Hurry up, though," Sherlock said, for no real reason. When John left, he sent a text to Lestrade to tell him they'd soon be in and then he called his mum.

"John and I have decided to come," he said when she answered.

"All right, good," she said. "Around five?"

"That'll be fine," Sherlock said. "And you're entirely sure he won't be there?"

"I am, Sherlock," she said. "You can trust me."  
  
He did trust her. He got up to make some tea.

John took a quick shower and changed his clothes before coming down to the kitchen. "Is there a case?"

"Not that I know of," Sherlock said. "I just wanted to introduce you to him, I suppose."

John smiled. "Okay."

Sherlock got showered and dressed, and they headed out. Sherlock talked a bit about working with Lestrade and his team. "He's not the smartest man in the world," he said. "But he's all right. You'll probably get along well ... he's normal, like you."

"Sherlock, you're normal too. And I'm sure it'll be fine."

"I am not," Sherlock said. "And I have a piece of paper to prove it." He looked over and smiled. "I'm just saying, don't be nervous about him. You can be nervous about my parents if you insist on being nervous about something."

"That's exactly how I'm feeling," John said.

"Well, I can't help there," Sherlock said. "But my brother won't be joining us, if that helps."

"Hmm, I suppose he's got to be constipated somewhere else?"

"I'm sure," Sherlock laughed. He held the door open for John, and they went through to Lestrade's office. "This is Doctor John Watson," he said to Lestrade.

Lestrade looked up and noticed an unusual look on Sherlock's face. He stepped forward and reached his hand out to John. "Greg Lestrade," he said.

"Great to meet you," John said. "Sherlock's told me a lot about you."

"He's not told me much about you, I'm afraid," Lestrade said, glancing at Sherlock. "You'll be working with him?"  
  
"Yes," Sherlock interrupted. "And he lives with me. At Baker Street."  
  
"All right then," Lestrade said, not quite sure what to think or say or where to even look. He swallowed and said, "Have you worked with the police before?"

John shook his head. "I was in the army, I've only recently come back."

"I see," Lestrade said. "Thank you for your service." He stepped back a bit. "And you know Sherlock ... how?"

John opened his mouth, then closed it and thought for a moment. "We met before I left. A mutual friend reintroduced us."

"You have a friend?" Lestrade asked Sherlock, smiling a bit.  
  
"John's my friend now," Sherlock said a bit stupidly.

"Yes, you've made that clear to me," Lestrade said. He fiddled with some papers on the desk. "Well, I've not got anything for you at the moment, but you know I will call -- especially now that I know you have a medical expert on staff." He smiled over at John. "It's been good to meet you."

"You too," John smiled back.

"Good, great, everything's good," Sherlock said, turning. "Let's go, John."  
  
Once they got out onto the street, Sherlock said, "Sorry about all that back there."

John laughed. "About what? That went really well. Though, I think you need to practice saying 'boyfriend'," he smiled.

"Is that what you want me to say?" Sherlock asked. "I will, if you want."

"That's what we are, aren't we?" he asked.

"All right," Sherlock said. He reached over and grabbed his hand. "Do you want to get lunch? We'll need to leave for my parents' in a few hours."

"Okay," John said. "Indian?"

"Sounds good," Sherlock said. They stopped into a little place. Once they were seated, Sherlock started breaking off small pieces of poppadom, eating them one at a time. "Is there anything... you know, that you'd rather not tell my parents?"

John tilted his head. "What are you planning on telling them at the moment?"

"Just that we've each done it to each other, but we're not sure who might top next," Sherlock said. He looked over and smiled cheekily. "I just mean, what if they ask about work or your injury? You don't have to share anything you don't want to share."

"They will know I've been injured, as a proper service is longer than three years," he said. "I suppose I was hoping they wouldn't ask about that. Just ... a nice dinner to catch up on what we're doing now."

"What are we doing now? I mean, should we tell them about your working with me or ... what?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes. I am currently settling in and helping you with cases while I ... figure out what's next for me," John said.

"All right, that'll be our story," Sherlock said. "I mean, it's not a story, it's true ... sorry, I suppose I'm just a bit anxious."

"We can't both be anxious," John teased.

"Well, you should have been more anxious about Lestrade and then you could have been the sensible one this evening," Sherlock said, throwing a piece of poppadom over at John.

John ducked the piece and shook his head. "I was the calm one then! You have to be calm now," he laughed.

"Fine," Sherlock said. "I'll do my best." He took a sip of water. "I'm sure it'll be fine -- my mum was always kind about you."

"To you? Or when the rest of the family was unkind?" John asked.

"I just mean ... she knew I loved you," Sherlock said. He started down at his glass, feeling a bit embarrassed as he remembered that summer.

"I loved you, too. I hope you knew that," John said quietly, swirling his wine. He dreaded facing Sherlock's mum after everything.

"We'll be fine ... I'm just being stupid," Sherlock said. "Food okay?" he asked, nodding towards John's almost empty plate.

"Yeah, it was really good," he nodded. "Did you like yours?"

"Sure," Sherlock said. "You know... it was food."

John smiled. "Well, you'll have some dinner later."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. He paid for lunch and they made their way back to the flat. They saw Mrs Hudson in the hallway and she managed to invite herself upstairs for a cup of tea. When they got in, Sherlock put the kettle on as Mrs Hudson looked round.

"It's looking nice in here," she said. "So much better than it was -- there's life here now."

"I've cleaned up a lot," John said, glancing at Sherlock in the kitchen to see his reaction. 

"That's a lie," Sherlock called. He brought over the tea. "So, Mrs Hudson," he said, sitting down. "Do you approve of my choice?"

"Am I the choice? That sounds like you had a whole stock of options," John said, grinning.

"Well, no, there weren't any other options, but that's not what I meant," Sherlock said, looking over at Mrs Hudson.

"I think you've made a fine choice, Sherlock Holmes," she said sweetly, smiling at him and then at John.

"Thank you," Sherlock said. "We're going to see my parents this afternoon."  
  
"Well, that's . .. something," she said before turning to John. "Have you met his brother?"

"He won't be there," Sherlock interrupted. "Just my parents. John has met them. A long time ago."  
  
"I see," she said. "Well, it's turning into a very happy home here, it seems."

John smiled. "Yes, it's really rather nice."

"Good," Mrs Hudson said. She finished her tea and stood up to leave. "Have a good visit," she told them, before going back downstairs.

Sherlock took the mugs to the sink and washed them up. "I might lie down for a bit," he said, looking at his watch. "We should leave in two hours, all right?"

"Okay, yeah. I think I'll go on my computer for a little bit," John said.

John sat in his chair and, for the first time since Ella made him start the blog, he wrote about something that happened to him. He wrote about running into an old friend that introduced him to an old love. It wasn't boring. It was fascinating actually -- what were the chances? He wrote about Sherlock and what he does now, and about how John's leg was cured because Sherlock made him feel like he was safe again. Like he was really home and he could put the war behind him now. Not forget, but move on. Keep living.

Sherlock went into his room and lay down on his bed. He closed his eyes and remembered.

He thought about that summer -- about the things he and John had done and said to each other. He thought about his mother -- about the advice she'd given him and the kindness she'd shown him. Then he thought about going to university and missing John and jealousy and loneliness. He thought about the feelings that John had brought into his life.

He opened his eyes. He'd been thinking a long time. He got up and changed his clothes and left his room. "A cup of tea before we leave?" he asked John.

John posted the piece as Sherlock wandered in. "No thanks," he said.

"I'm going to have one, I think," Sherlock said, getting out his mug. "Been busy?"

"Just updating my blog," he said. "Or can you call it updating if there was nothing there before?"

"What are you writing about?" Sherlock asked, coming up with his tea.

"You. And us," he said. "Not everything but, you know. Little stuff."

"Like what?" Sherlock said. "Not sex stuff?"

"No! Not that stuff," he said.

"Good," Sherlock said. "What little stuff then?"

"Just stuff -- you can read it if you want."

"Hmmm," Sherlock said. He finished his tea. "Are you ready?" He got up to take his mug to the sink. "You look handsome, if that helps at all."

John smiled. "It helps a little bit," he said.

"That's why I'm here," Sherlock said. "Should we go then?"

John nodded. "Yeah. Is it far from here?"

"It'll take a while," Sherlock said. "But we should get there a little early so she doesn't worry we've changed our minds."

When they arrived, Sherlock held John's hand as they walked to the door. He let himself in and called, "We're here."  
  
Sherlock's mum came around the corner, wiping her hands on her apron. She gave Sherlock a kiss and then said, "Well, hello there, John."

"Hello," John said, smiling at her. "It's good to see you again."

"You look different," she said. "Still handsome but older."

"We're all older, Mother," Sherlock said.

"Well, I'm not," she said, smiling as she led them through to the kitchen. She brought over some tea and biscuits. "Dinner in about an hour, but don't eat too much," she said. "I suppose I'm talking to you, John, since that's not a risk with Sherlock."

John nodded. "He did have a decent lunch, I made sure," he smiled.

She smiled in return. "So how is the flat coming along?" she asked.

"It's good -- tidy," Sherlock said.

"Is Mrs Hudson looking after you?" she asked.

"No, I don't need looking after," Sherlock said, too quickly. He glanced down at his tea. "Besides, John is good at the flat. We look after each other." He looked over at John and smiled.

"So John ... how was the army? Besides being wounded, I mean, sorry -- I just mean, how have you been?" she asked. She didn't look over at Sherlock who she knew must know that she had spoken to Mycroft.

"Fine," John said. "I'm fine. Just settling in. I've only just come back, you know, but I really am doing better." He tried to keep his voice soft.

"And you found Sherlock straight away?" she asked.

"Not immediately. An old mutual friend introduced us."  
  
"I didn't know he was back," Sherlock said. "Or I would have found him." He reached over and took John's hand.

Sherlock's father came in and they chatted with him for a bit. Sherlock asked if there was anything his mum wanted help with, even though he knew he probably couldn't really do much. He also knew she'd say no, which is partly why he'd ask.

Eventually, she said dinner was ready and he did help her carry things in to the table.

John sat beside Sherlock. "Everything looks really good," he said.

"Thank you, John," she said.

Sherlock did his best to eat. The conversation seemed to flow pretty smoothly, and Mycroft was not mentioned at all. He felt like he was starting to relax a little. John was glad no one was asking too many questions about the army as they ate. He hoped that continued all night.

Once they'd finished, Sherlock's mum said, "Why don't we have tea in the garden? Sherlock, could you help me?"

Sherlock looked up and tried to read his mum's face. "Yes," he said. He looked over at John. "You can go out back with my dad. We'll be out in a minute."

"Okay," John said, following Sherlock's dad out to the garden. He looked around, there was a lot to admire.

Sherlock carried some of the dishes into the kitchen. As his mum got the tea ready, she said, "You're not a boy anymore, Sherlock. Sometimes that's easy for me to forget."

"Well, that's what parents do, I guess," Sherlock said.

"I'm wondering, though ... do you ever forget?"

Sherlock sighed. "Do you mean am I ever tempted to use?"

"No, I don't suppose that's precisely what I mean," she said. "It's just ... John's an adult and he'll be expecting an adult relationship. Those things require ... I guess, responsibility is the word I'm looking for." She stopped and turned towards him. "A responsibility to him and to yourself. Both of those things. Can you do both of those things, Sherlock?"

Sherlock picked up a tea towel and stared down at for a moment. He trusted his mother and wanted to give her question consideration. "Yes, I can," he said, looking up at her. "I want to take care of him, but I know I've also got to look after myself as well."

She smiled. "I can see he makes you happy," she said. "It's been a long time since I saw that look in your eye."  
  
He blushed a little and picked up the tray and turned to leave.

"But I'm still your mum and I hope you're using condoms," she said, calling after him. "I don't want to hear about either of you getting pregnant until you're married!" She laughed to herself as she followed him out.

Outside, John and Sherlock's dad were sitting in silence, staring out at the garden until finally his father said, "He's been through a lot, you know."

John looked over, nodding. "I know, sir."

He considered John for a moment. "But then you have too," he said.

John nodded. "I have."

He nodded again. He seemed like he wanted to say something else, but then the others were coming out and John turned to help them.

"Did you bring biscuits?" Sherlock said to his mum as he set the tray on the table. "John, do you want biscuits?"

"No, I'm full from dinner," he said. "Thanks though."

"All right, if you're sure," Sherlock said. He sat down next to him and picked up a cup.

"Perhaps your father and I will come visit the flat someday soon," his mother said. It was a statement more than a question.

Sherlock glanced at John. "That would be fine," he said.

"I'll make sure it's tidy," John said, throwing a teasing look at Sherlock.

They made small talk as they finished their tea -- Sherlock's mum explaining some work his father was doing before talking about a sculpture she'd recently sold. Finally, she said, "Your brother's well ..."

"I'm sure he is," Sherlock said flatly.

"Perhaps he could help with your work?" she offered.

"We're doing well on our own, thank you," Sherlock replied.

"We? Is John helping you?"

"He might be -- if his expertise is needed," Sherlock said. "I don't need Mycroft to take care of me, Mother."

"I know you don't. I just wish you two got along like you used to, when you were children," she sighed.

"We've never been close," Sherlock said.

"We both know that's a lie," she said.

"Nevertheless," Sherlock said, setting down his cup. "I don't need him."

She didn't say anything else.

Sherlock looked over at John. "I think it's time we headed home," he said

"Sure," John said, smiling brightly at him.

Sherlock carried the tray in, offering to do the washing up, but his mother told him not to (as he knew she would). They said their goodbyes and soon they were on their way home.

"That wasn't too bad," John said.

Sherlock glanced over and smiled. "No, it wasn't too bad," he said. "Everyone knows now, I suppose."

"How do you feel about that?"

Sherlock thought for a moment. "I'm a private person," he said. "But you're not a secret anymore. There's no reason you should be."

John smiled. "I'm glad."

When they got home, Sherlock poured some tea and brought it into the sitting room. "Today's felt quite busy, I suppose, even though we haven't really accomplished anything," he said, slouching a bit. "I can check my email to see if there's a case or anything, but I'm bizarrely exhausted."

"Tomorrow," John said. "Let's just relax for a little bit, yeah?"

"All right," Sherlock said, getting more comfortable. "But don't turn me lazy, okay?" He smiled softly as he took a sip of tea.

John chuckled softly. "We had a lot going on today, we weren't lazy."

"Fine," Sherlock said. "But I do like to work, John ... when we were together before I was on holiday. And a student. Now I'm not -- when I work, I'm extremely focused and sometimes I don't talk or sleep or ... I just mean, will you be okay with those things?"

"Yes, it'll be okay." John smiled at him. "As long as I know you love me."

"I do love you, John," Sherlock said. "But that's different now as well ... it's not a boy's love, I mean." He felt his face redden a little, but it was true and he wanted to say it.

"I know, Sherlock." John reached over and squeezed Sherlock's hand.

Sherlock smiled and said, "What do you want to do for the rest of the evening?"

"Would you call me lazy again if I said I just wanted to cuddle?"

"I suppose I'd be all right with that," Sherlock said. He stood up and reached for the remote. "You can find something you like on television." He turned off the lamps in the room so it was fairly dark.

John found an old movie and curled close to Sherlock.

Sherlock couldn't really focus on the film, but he enjoyed the quiet in the room, listening more to John's breathing as he lay beside him, stroking his arm lightly.

"I love you," he said softly.

"I feel the same," Sherlock said. He stretched a little. "Not about this film, though," he added. "Is it almost over?"

John chuckled. "Let's go to bed."

"If you insist," Sherlock said, smiling. He got up and got two glasses of water which he took into the bedroom. Then he stopped into the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth. He didn't bother with pajamas but just slid into bed and waited for John.

John got ready for bed and climbed in beside him. He scooted close and smiled.

"So is this your room now as well then?" Sherlock asked, wrapping an arm around him.

"Yeah," he smiled. "It's our room."

"So how come I'm the only one who's ever made the bed since we've lived here?" Sherlock asked, pushing on John's arm.

John laughed. "You demand a lot of chores from me."

"Well this isn't some dumpy furnished flat at the seaside, you know," Sherlock said. "This is supposed to be our home so you'll need to pull your weight round here."

"I'll pull your weight around here -- taking you all over the flat," John grinned.

"I don't even want to know what that means," Sherlock said, laughing a little. He snuggled a bit closer. "Remember the last night before you left?" he said quietly. "I tried to sear it all into my memory, every sensation, so I could relive it each night when you left. Until I had to stop and make it go away for a while ..."

John nodded.

"Can I tell you a secret?" Sherlock said, turning to face John. "It's a bit embarrassing really, but you're the only one I could confess it to -- I never even told Thomas. You just have to promise not to laugh."

"I'll try my best," John promised.

"A few times ... I'd bring the photo of us up on my phone and set it on the pillow beside me," Sherlock whispered. It was embarrassing, but it was also true.

John didn't laugh. He kissed Sherlock softly. "I looked at them a lot, showed you off," he smiled. "I was upset when I lost my phone."

"I put them on my phone this morning," Sherlock said. "Do you want to see them?" He reached around and grabbed his phone from the bedside table.

"Yes please," John said, shifting a bit to see better.

Sherlock flicked through and found the one John had taken of them lying in bed. He looked at it again for a moment -- they looked so young. He handed John the phone. "Remember?"

John took the phone and looked at the photo. He couldn't help smiling. They looked so young. They felt like an entire lifetime had passed since then. He looked at Sherlock beside him. Not a lifetime. Three years. A very long, hard three years for both of them. He closed Sherlock's phone and put it on the bedside table, looking at the real Sherlock again and kissing him softly. Sherlock smiled as he kissed him back.  
  
The lifetime was starting now, and they would do it together.


End file.
